


Divided We Stand

by Disasteriffic_Kaz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 17:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1477249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disasteriffic_Kaz/pseuds/Disasteriffic_Kaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A not-so-simple salt and burn reminds the Winchester brothers that they always work better when they watch each other's backs; something they've both been forgetting lately. Post 8x08 "Hunteri Heroici" hurt/comfort!Sam/Dean</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This one started out as just mine and then I decided to work a prompt from Jennifer Lawson in while I was at it, who said, what a bitch it would be if the boys had to hunt down the pieces of a skeleton for a salt and burn through estate sales. LOL So here we are.
> 
> Sutro Baths is a real location. :D I'll likely take liberties with it. *snicker* But you can google it. It's another case of "I saw a pic of this awesome place!" and decided I needed to set a fic there. For some reason, this one started off as a bit of an angst-fest. Lol No idea why but you know me, sooner or later the bro-mo's will come and of course…the hurting. Heh heh heh
> 
> Beta'd by the Always Awesome JaniceC678 - Friend and Muse's co-conspirator
> 
> **Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!  
> ~Reviews are Love~

**_ _ **

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

**Chapter 1**

Sam watched his brother pace their motel room with the phone to his ear and sighed softly before turning back to his laptop. His big brother had seemed to be distancing himself from Benny lately, for which Sam was grateful, but now was equally as focused on Castiel. Sam couldn't help but feel like Dean had simply found someone else to substitute for him. He couldn't compete with what Dean and Benny had survived together in Purgatory and he sure as hell was no competition for the angel who had once rescued Dean from Hell itself. He dropped his head and let his long hair fall in front of his face. He didn't need Dean seeing whatever pitiful expression he couldn't hide just then and calling him on it. He felt useless and unwanted by the only person whose opinion he'd ever really cared about and…it was breaking him.

"Dammit." Dean flipped his phone closed and shoved it into his pocket. "Cas ain't answering again. Would have been a hell of a lot faster to finish this job if we could'a sent angel-boy up north to grab the hands while we go after the head."

Sam nodded. They had been tracking down the body of Magnus Dunlevy, a two hundred year old Irish dead man who'd somehow managed to have his bones cleaned, mounted and sold all across the county. Sam figured the spirit had started attacking people last year after his feet turned up at an estate sale, were bought by a Catholic priest who then gave them a proper burial for the 'poor soul'…and burned them. Half the time, Sam was tracking victims to find the remaining pieces of Magnus' skeleton.

"These are the only two left." Sam risked a glance up at Dean. "We got lucky last week that a medical school bought his ribs and spine and had them articulated."

Dean snorted. "Pretty sure that medical student wouldn't agree. What'd he drop her? Four stories?"

"Five into the therapy pool," Sam said seriously. "I don't think she gonna go swimming for a while. She's lucky there was someone there to pull her out before she drowned." He straightened and closed the laptop. "We should split up." He saw Dean's shoulders stiffen and plowed on. "You've already flirted with the museum curator." Sam smirked when Dean turned his head to look at him. "Shouldn't take you long to get your hands on the…hands." He smiled. "I can head over to this Sutro Baths place and find his head. Two birds with one stone, dude."

Dean looked at him for a moment. "Would like to be the hell done with this case." It bothered him daily now, the rift that had developed between them, and he couldn't figure out how to fix it. It was clear that it was there, and he knew, at least in some part, that it was his fault, but he just couldn't seem to let go of the anger. He turned away and shrugged. "You wanna get rid of me that bad, we can split up." He cringed even as he said it and rolled his eyes at himself. He just couldn't seem to stop taking shots at his little brother.

Sam stiffened and nodded. "Just…just for a day, two tops." He felt like they were dancing around this now every time they spoke, around Dean pushing him away for good because he didn't need him anymore…or want him…and didn't even trust him to have his back. He'd found someone…a vampire, no less…that he now considered a better brother than, according to Dean, Sam had ever been, despite all they had been through together and shared…and never mind that Sam would still willingly throw himself in the path of a speeding train if it meant saving Dean's life. Apparently, none of that meant anything to Dean anymore. Sam fought to keep is voice level. "We can meet up in San Francisco after. We'll save time this way and maybe someone's life."

"Right." Dean felt the old, gut-reaction that screamed 'no' and balked at leaving his little brother alone on a job, but it was distant still. Purgatory still held too much sway over his thoughts to allow it more than the faintest place in his head, although the instinct to protect, honed over a lifetime of "watch out for Sammy," was gradually becoming stronger the longer he was out. It was that same voice that snarled at him every time he put that pained, lost look on Sam's face on purpose, and, frankly, he was starting to hate himself a little. A break suddenly sounded like a great idea. "Sounds good. I'll try Cas again, see if I can lose him in the museum."

"He's an angel of the Lord, not a child." Sam rolled his eyes but smiled at the image because, for a divine being, in many ways, he really did seem more like a lost child much of the time, an odd mix of deep, age-old power combined with an innocent naivety and enduring wonder at the world around him.

"You say so." Dean shrugged. "Well come on then. Let's pack up and get movin'. You even know where you're going?"

"It's a five hour drive from here, Dean. I think I can find it," Sam gave his brother a bitch-face and packed his laptop in his bag. "You should be careful. Two people have almost died in that museum."

"'Cause they were stupid and didn't know what they were dealing with." Dean grinned. "I think I can handle it."

"Uh huh." Sam started shoving clothes into his duffel. "So last week when we found his right arm and you almost got speared in that guy's personal armory, that was you handling it?"

"Didn't get speared did I?" Dean flicked his fingers dismissively at him. "You think you can find this vault on your own, Indiana?"

"Bite me, Dean." Sam grabbed his bag and then stood awkwardly.

Dean had a brief moment where he almost offered Sam the Impala and then shook his head. "Where you gonna find a car?"

"There's a long-term lot down the road. I saw it when we came in." Sam put his bag over his shoulder, mirroring his brother. "Drop me off?"

"Yeah, sure. Come on."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Sam drove down the Pacific Highway and, for once, didn't spend time staring out at the ocean. It dawned on him that he hadn't since college…since Jess. He hadn't been comfortable anywhere near Palo Alto in the years since, and he was very close now. The Golden Gate bridge did manage to pull his attention, as it always had, to marvel at the engineering, and it felt like a lifetime ago that he and Jess had walked its length just to appreciate it. Sam slowed as he drove into the ever-present bank of fog that hugged the bridge and blinked when he came back out the other side into the sunlight. He'd always meant to go have a look at Sutro Baths when he'd lived there during college, but somehow had never found the time between classes and Jess.

"Stop it, Sam," he muttered to himself and drove through the fringes of San Francisco toward the baths, following the signs to 'Land's End'. He wondered how the place had gotten that name and made a silent promise to look it up later, after he had the skull. The buildings gave way to rocky country and then ocean views as Sam wound down toward the ocean. Twenty minutes of lonely road later, Sam pulled into a large plateau area that looked to have been a parking lot once upon a time. There were a few signs here and there, warning visitors to be careful on the stairs, on the beach and one that Sam smirked at that said to not explore alone.

He walked to the edge of the bluff and looked down and gave a low whistle. A cove spread out below him, and though the buildings were long gone, destroyed in a fire in the sixties, the foundations were still there like the bones of some long-dead animal to show where they had once stood. What had once been the massive indoor pool looked like a man-made pond, and Sam knew from his research of the place, that the ocean tides came in each day, rising over the break wall to recycle the water in the pool. It had been designed that way on purpose as a money-saver and, at the time, a marvel of engineering.

Sam pulled his bag and the map he'd cobbled together out of the trunk of his stolen Dodge and went around the edge of the bluff until he found the stairs. He rolled his eyes as his phone rang and pulled it out. "I'm fine, Dean," Sam answered with a smirk.

"I know that!" Dean's irritated voice carried through the speaker and made Sam chuckle.

"I just got here. This place is…there's not a lot left above ground." Sam started down the wide stairs carved into the slope. "I'm gonna see if I can find the cave entrance down on the bottom and come up at the vault from underneath."

"Well, that sounded dirty." Dean quipped and snorted. "Anything hinkey happens, get the hell out of there and call me."

"I'll be fine. You at the museum yet?" Sam grabbed the metal railing on one side as a piece of a step crumbled under his foot.

"Sam?" Dean asked, hearing a soft gasp. "What's goin' on?" He suddenly hated himself a little for letting his brother go off on his own.

"Nothing. Just a badly maintained set of stairs." Sam stayed next to the rail as he continued down. "Museum?"

"Right, yeah. I'll be there in ten." Dean frowned, not liking the mental image of Sam descending a cliff on crumbling stairs. "You sure there's not another way down?"

"I could always jump," Sam said facetiously. "Might make a water landing from here."

"Not….funny," Dean growled.

Sam chuckled. "Go flirt with the hot museum curator. She obviously has no taste." He rolled his eyes at Dean's knowing chuckle.

"Chicks dig me, dude. Deal." Dean grinned at himself in the mirror. The curator hadn't looked twice at Sam once Dean had smiled at her.

Sam rolled his eyes again and ended the call, tucking his phone away and put all his attention on his descent. It really wasn't dangerous during daylight, but he wouldn't like to try and get down, or up, in one piece in the dark. He hitched his bag higher on his shoulder and hoped the ghost would leave him alone until after he'd located the skull.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

"Mr. Grant. Back again with more questions for your documentary?" Lisa Woodard smiled dreamily at the bright green eyes fixed on her.

Dean gave her his best grin and nodded. "I think it's just something about the way you talk about estate sales and exhibits. I can't get enough." He leaned over the tall desk on his elbows to poke at the badge hanging from her neck. "Madam Curator."

She giggled and blushed. "I already told you to call me Lisa."

"Then you can call me Dean." He chuckled and mentally patted himself on the back with a silent 'still got it' to himself as he followed her around the desk and toward the storerooms.

"Your partner not with you today?" Lisa asked, not really minding if he was alone. She much preferred him alone; alone made for fun possibilities.

Dean shook his head. "He's checking into another lead. Now, about these hands." He brushed his fingers over the backs of her knuckles and made her blush again. "I really like hands."

"So do I. I mean, I like…um…" She trailed off a little breathlessly and realized she sounded like a teenager.

Dean smiled knowingly and gave her a little space so she could start breathing again. "So, my partner said he didn't think the hands you have are, uh…articulated properly?" He shrugged and rolled his eyes. "I told him he was full of crap."

"Oh, they are!" Lisa said, suddenly smiling broadly. "I'll show you."

Dean hummed happily to himself and followed her through the store room. It was more or less a warehouse inside the museum and as big as one with row upon row of shelving units, storage boxes, and a filing system that had actually defeated Sam. He smirked. That was one of the few times he'd actually seen Sam cuss and throw his hands up while doing research, and they needed to know where the hands were kept before he could sneak in and swipe them.

"Here we are." Lisa smiled and waved him after her down an aisle. "We took them off exhibit a few days ago when the climate controls in their case malfunctioned."

"Malfunctioned how?" Dean asked, suddenly interested in the job again.

"We climate control cases for human remains to keep them cool so the bones don't deteriorate, but the case we had the hands in kept running too cold." She shrugged. "It's odd, but it happens."

"Huh." Dean nodded and was now on alert for any ghostly intervention. The sudden cold spot in the case had to be because of the ghost. "Any problems since moving them back here?" He asked and smiled when she raised a brow at him. "Just curious."

"Not that I'm aware of. This whole store room is climate controlled. It's unlikely it would malfunction." Lisa stopped at a shelf stacked almost floor to ceiling with large, wooden boxes; like oversized humidors for cigars. She pulled out a gleaming, cherry-wood box and turned to set it on a narrow table in the aisle with them. "It really is quite rare nowadays to come across human remains like this. Federal law doesn't prohibit the sale of them, but as I'm sure you're aware, most states do."

Dean nodded. He actually did know that. Sam had made a point of explaining why tracking the dead guy's skeleton was such a pain in the ass. "Right. The government only cares if they're native American."

Lisa nodded and smiled happily at him. "It's part of the restoration act the federal government has with the various nations - repatriating any Native American remains that turn up where they shouldn't, probably looted from burial sites over the years. It's despicable, really, that people used to raid their burial sites for keepsakes." She frowned and opened the small lock on the front of the box. "These, however, we have a provenance for. They belonged to an Irishman, I believe, from the turn of the century. Huh." She ran a hand over the box and then looked up at the shelves behind them.

"What?"

"Oh, it's nothing. The box is cold. There must be a vent right near here." Lisa shrugged and opened the lid.

Dean leaned over to look and nodded. Inside were the skeletal remains of two human hands, right and left, connected with fine wire like he'd seen as part of whole skeletons in dozens of coroner's offices over the years. "That's every bone in both his hands? You're sure?"

"Uh huh." Lisa nodded and turned the box so he could have a better look. "We disassembled them on arrival and checked before rearticulating them for display. Standard procedure in case someone's tried to pull a fast one and use plastic molds instead of actual bones."

"Dude had big hands." Dean observed with a smirk as he looked down at them. He felt a sudden drop in the temperature around them and rolled his eyes. He needed to get her away before something bad happened. He closed the box and turned a mega-watt smile at Lisa. "So, anywhere to get a good cup of coffee around here?"

"A…oh, of course! Sure!" Lisa hastily slid the box back in its spot and blushed again as she looked at Dean. "I could tell you or…"

"I was kinda hopin' I could buy you a cup." Dean tilted his head and reeled her in, licking his bottom lip into his mouth and saw her eyes fix on it. "Unless you're busy."

"No. Nope. Not busy….at all." Lisa waved him ahead of her and fanned herself behind his back for a moment; the man was simply too attractive. She lost IQ points every time he licked those amazing lips of his.

Dean walked with a slight swagger, pleased that he still had all his skills when it came to women. He hadn't had any need of them for so long, it felt kind of nice to be using them again. Even so, he kept his eyes trained on the storeroom around them, ears attuned for any sound out of place, because there was no mistaking the ghost's presence even without his EMF turned on. He patted it in his suit pocket and stopped as he heard a new sound.

"What's that?" Lisa asked and turned curiously to look down another aisle at a peculiar rattling sound. "Do you hear that?"

"Probably nothing. We should get that cup of coffee now." Dean took her arm to try and lead her out, but she shook her head with a frown.

"Something's weird. Hello? Is someone else in here? Just give me a second." Lisa pulled her arm free and looked back in surprise when Dean took hold of her again.

"We really should go now. Just trust me," Dean pleaded and then startled when the muffled rattling became a clamor. He turned to look down the aisle and his jaw dropped. At the end of the row, hanging from the wall, was an assortment of medieval weaponry, all of which were shaking in their brackets. "Holy crap." The brackets popped loose as the weapons - swords, daggers and even a halberd taller than he was - broke free and swung up to point at them. "Time to go!" Dean grabbed Lisa as she gaped, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and threw them both to the side as the weapons collection whistled through the air toward them.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_To Be Continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Dean grunted when he felt something sharp slice along his lower back and then grunted again as he and Lisa crashed into the floor. They rolled and slid on the floor and Dean quickly climbed off her. "Up! Get up!" He took Lisa's arm and dragged her to her feet. There was more banging around them in the aisles, and he didn't want to know what the bastard would find to throw at them next. He pulled Lisa with him, supporting her against his side in a run to the doors and shoved through them outside. Dean let her go and turned to the doors to slam them closed.

He threw the lock on the doors and reared back at the sound of something hard and heavy hitting from the other side. The doors rattled in the frame but stayed closed. "Crap! Lisa?" He turned to her and the blood drained out of his head, making him dizzy. She stood swaying with her hands clasped to her stomach around the hilt of an antique dagger of some sort. Blood flowed from the wound, saturating her shirt and quickly staining her dress slacks. Her eyes, already dull with the loss looked up to his, and Dean caught her before her legs could crumple and take her to the floor.

"Dean?" Lisa's voice was a bare whisper of shock and confusion.

Fighting back the urge to panic, he cradled her gently in his arms. He swallowed hard and managed a smile for her, his own wound forgotten. The blood pouring out of her was too dark and flowing too freely, and he knew. She was dying and fast. He'd seen death too often not to recognize it instantly. "Right here, Lisa. I'm right here. You're gonna be fine," he lied to her, his voice soothing, and kept smiling.

Lisa nodded and closed her eyes. "Would have...liked…to kiss…kiss you." Her voice trailed off.

Dean bowed his head over her, pressing his lips to her forehead as a last breath whispered past her lips and she went still, her hands sliding away from the bloody ruin of her stomach to the floor. "I'm sorry." He placed a chaste, soft kiss on her lips and laid her on the floor as gently as he could. Closing his eyes briefly and forcing his sorrow at the loss of yet another innocent person he had been unable to save to the dark recesses of his mind, Dean straightened, stood, and turned to glare at the doors. He nodded, turned again and strode away. "Gettin' my gun, the salt, and I'm comin' back to torch your ass," Dean growled. "And once my brother roasts your head, you're goin' straight to hell, you son of a bitch."

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam wiped sweat off his brow with his arm and stopped to turn and look up at the bluffs above him. The sun beat down on him and, though it wasn't a hot day, it was warm enough as he navigated the uneven ground in the cove. He had to stop frequently and listen to the packed earth under his feet groan and creak. It had puzzled him at first, but then he suddenly remembered that there had been an artificial pump system for the pools and that the conduits and pipes must still be there, under the ground, and, given some of the sounds he heard as he walked, were none too safe.

"Shit." Sam heard another groan from underneath him and blew out a breath as he carefully moved away. The ground was deceptive, appearing to be hard-packed earth and nothing more. He had spotted the dark mouth of the cave entrance on the other side of the big pool as he'd descended the stairs and Sam made for it, figuring that, though it might look natural now, the pool was manmade and so would have a sturdier construction.

"Cutting across the basin…bad idea, Sam," he muttered at himself. He'd decided to just cross the basin of the cove at a diagonal to save time reaching the cave. The ominous sounds coming from below him seemed to grow louder. "Really bad idea. Shit. Shit. Shit!" Sam raced the last twenty feet to the edge of the pool with the ground shifting under his every step. He felt the change the moment his feet hit the side of the pool. The ground became firm, and he sagged with relief as he stopped and just caught his breath.

Sam bent at the edge of the pool and looked out over it to the ocean beyond. It was a beautiful view, and he could imagine how people had flocked to the place back in the sixties. The ocean water filling the pool was dark green and murky, no doubt colored every time the tide flowed into and out of it by sixty years of mud and algae collected in the bottom. He saw the water ripple in the pool beside him and bent over to look closer.

Sam shouted in surprise when something large, dark, and wet reared up out of the water at him. He threw himself backward and then wind milled his arms as his heels slipped off the edge of the pool. "SHIT!" Sam yelled as he fell backward to the ground. He grunted as he landed and before he could right himself and move, the ground beneath him caved in with a loud groan of rusted metal and he dropped through in a shower of dirt and rock.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean went quickly outside and to the Impala. His head swam with rage over Lisa's death and guilt. He couldn't help but think that if Sam had been there to watch his back, she wouldn't be dead. He'd allowed her to distract him, and it cost the woman her life. He shook his head and went to the trunk.

"Mister, are you bleeding?"

Dean whipped around at the child's voice and found a small girl of no more than ten standing behind him. He frowned and looked around. "Go find your mom, kid."

"You're bleeding, mister," the girl insisted and pointed to his back. "I'll get my momma."

"Huh?" Dean turned awkwardly to look behind him and put a hand to his back. It came away wet with blood, and just like that, the pain crashed into him and doubled him over as the girl dashed away into the parking lot. "Holy crap," he groaned. He'd actually forgotten momentarily in the rush of, first, adrenaline and then of anger and grief, that he'd been wounded, and remembered the feel of something sharp slicing low across his back.

Dean changed his mind as he heard the little girl calling her mother and went around the car, sliding behind the wheel with a hiss of discomfort. He couldn't afford to be caught in the museum's parking lot bloody and injured…not with a body waiting inside. He drove out of the lot and onto the road, thankfully before the little girl returned, and got away from the museum as fast as he could.

"Dammit," Dean said with feeling and pulled out his phone. He hunched forward over the wheel, trying to relieve some of the pain in the his back and dialed his brother, not looking forward to admitting just how badly he'd screwed up. He frowned when it rang and kept ringing and then kicked over into voicemail. "What the hell?" Dean dialed Sam again, and again it rang through to voicemail and a small niggle of worry crept into his gut.

Dean's vision started to blur as he drove and forced him to find a place to pull over before he passed out altogether. He chose a secluded rest area away from the road and parked behind some trees. He turned off the car and rested his head on the wheel just breathing heavily through the pain and trying to decide what to do. He needed an extra pair of hands to patch up his back and he needed them soon. Bleeding out slowly would get you just as dead as bleeding out quickly. It would just give you more time to think about it. "Son of a bitch." He closed his eyes and prayed to Castiel.

"Cas. If you can hear me, this is kinda an emergency. I need help." Dean's voice was hoarse with emotion, exhaustion, and pain, and he pressed his forehead harder into the wheel. "I'm hurt, man, and I can't reach Sam. Come on, Cas. Get your feathery ass down here."

"My ass is not feathery."

"Shit!" Dean yelped and spun in the seat to find the angel sitting in the passenger seat. He blew out a breath and barely resisted the urge to punch him.

"You do not look well, Dean," Cas observed and leaned around him to see his back. "You are bleeding profusely."

"Tell me something I don't know." Dean grumbled and opened the driver's door to get out.

"The brontosaurus was large, placid, and quite stupid," Castiel told him seriously and tilted his head when Dean stared incredulously at him. "You said to tell you something you did not already know."

"That's not…never mind. Come on." Dean rolled his eyes debating, not for the first time, if Cas was sometimes just screwing with him on purpose, pretending not to understand. He climbed out of the seat with a groan, turned, and leaned over the roof of the car while Castiel came around the front to stand beside him. "Work your mojo, dude. I got bones to burn and Sam's not answering his phone."

"What did this?" Castiel tugged up the remains of the back of Dean's suit jacket and his mouth tightened into a grim line with the sight of the long, open wound along his friend's back.

"Ghost," Dean said shortly and then let his head drop to the sun-warmed metal of the roof. "He killed the museum curator." His voice caught as the picture of her bright smile and the pretty flush that came to her cheeks with his flirtatious attention came unbidden to his mind. "I couldn't…I was too late to save her."

Castiel heard the pain and regret in Dean's voice, and understood that his all-too-human friend was suffering from more than his physical injury. At least the physical pain was something he could help with. "I am sorry, Dean." He put a hand over Dean's back, spread his fingers, and let his grace flow into him. Healing Dean was always a slightly different experience to healing any other human. Castiel assumed it was the connection forged when he had raised him from perdition. It was easier somehow to heal Dean. The energy flowed out of him, into the eldest Winchester like it wanted to be there and wiped away all sign of the injury and blood.

Dean gasped and then leaned back with an appreciative moan as the pain vanished. He managed a small but sincere smile and turned around. "Thanks, Cas." He clapped a hand to the angel's shoulder. "Any chance you can…"

"I must go." Castiel said abruptly and vanished, leaving Dean with his arm outstretched.

Dean dropped his arm and growled. "Awesome. Dammit!" He took his phone out and tried Sam again with the same result as his brother failed to answer, and his sense of unease grew. Dean tossed the phone in the car and hastily pulled off his ruined suit jacket and shirt. He balled them up and dropped them in a nearby trashcan and then went to the trunk. He was torn between needing to make sure Sam was alright and needing to get rid of the bones at the museum before someone else died there. He growled angrily under his breath while he pulled on a fresh t-shirt and then his jacket. He tossed salt, lighter fluid, and the sawed-off into a bag and brought that up front with him as he slid behind the wheel again.

"Better damn well not die on me, Sammy," Dean said softly as he backed out of the rest stop and headed back for the museum, his mind made up. "What the hell was I thinking?" But he knew exactly what he had been thinking – he had still been carrying around a pile of anger and hurt and resentment, all directed at Sam, and had been taking every opportunity to make sure Sam knew it and felt like crap about it. Now…now his little brother was off wandering around in a bunch of caves and cliffs, with a homicidal ghost running around. What if the last thing between them - Dean roughly shoved that thought aside and vowed to himself that when this job was over he was going to find a way to fix things between them. That broken, lost look would NOT be the last thing he saw on his brother's face.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam woke with a groan and coughed dust and dirt out of his nose and mouth. He blinked his gritty eyes open and looked up at a 'Sam' sized hole above him and the sunlight streaming down. "Great," he coughed again. "Great job." He groaned again and carefully sat up. The bag slung over his shoulder had protected his back from landing on the pile of debris, but he was sure the shotgun had a left a permanent impression somewhere around his right kidney.

"Ow." Sam ran a hand through his hair, dislodging more dust and sand and set himself coughing again until it settled. He looked around curiously and found himself lying in the narrow space between two large, old metal pipes. He checked his watch, having to blink to clear his vision, and stared to find he'd been out cold for over an hour.

"Ok; not good," he grumbled and ran a hand over the back of his head. He hissed out a breath as his fingers brushed over a sizeable bump. It brought with it a wave of nausea that left him hunched over and breathing through his nose in an effort to not give in. He didn't even want to imagine what the smell would be like in the small space. When his stomach finally stopped attempting a revolt, he carefully pulled his legs under him and tried to stand. Sam used the pipes on either side of him for leverage as his head swam dizzily and it took several moments to realize that he could hear a strange sound coming from above him. Sand began to sluice down into the hole and Sam looked up as a dark shadow appeared at the edge to loom over him.

"Oh, crap."

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_To Be Continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Sam dropped back to his knees and tried to get his gun out. His arm tangled with the bag, he lost his balance and landed back on his backside and then looked up as a strange chittering sound came down to him. A moment later, the shadow jumped from the ledge to land between Sam's spread legs with a thump.

"Holy…crap," Sam said in surprise and stared at the large river otter that was now staring back up at him. He grinned and then laughed, letting go of his gun to look at the creature. "You're Sutro Sam, aren't you?" Sam had done his research, including finding many mentions of a river otter that had adopted the Sutro baths as its home and was often spotted in and around them by visitors. Someone had named it 'Sam' and he had opted to not tell Dean about it, imagining the teasing he would have received. "Uh…hi. It's your fault I'm down here, you know."

The dark head tilted, gleaming wetly in the sun from above and blinked black eyes at him.

Sam chuckled. "Ok, so I wasn't exactly graceful about it. Right; and…I'm talking to an otter. So, not concussed at all then." Sam snorted softly and got back to his feet. He wobbled and looked up. The roof of the room was just above his head. He took hold of the edge of the hole and had to stagger out of the way when more of the ground above crumbled down in on top of him.

"Dammit," Sam groaned and then he looked down in surprise when Sutro Sam darted over to rub against his leg. The otter peered up at him and then ran over the rubble and under one of the large pipes. Sam snorted, stared, and then shook his head when the otter's head popped back out to look at him and then scampered under the pipe again. "Seriously?" Sam walked unsteadily over and then got down on his hands and knees to look underneath. "You're gonna 'Lassie' me outta here?"

Sam chuckled as he bent and had to get practically on his belly, but he managed to wiggle under the pipe and out the other side. He pulled his bag around and fished inside it for the flashlight, pulled it out, and flicked it on. "I am never telling Dean about this. Ever."

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean drove slowly past the museum with a wary eye on the police cars and the ambulance out front. Lisa had obviously been found and he wished he could tell someone how she'd died, but of course, all that would get him was a prison sentence, more than likely. He drove the Impala around and behind the building, parking beyond a stand of dumpsters to hide the car. He climbed out and shouldered his bag as he looked up the fire escape on the back of the building. He knew the window up there led right into the storeroom and hoped all the excitement had moved away by now. He didn't want anyone else to end up like Lisa, not if he could help.

He jumped the few feet up to the bottom of the fire escape and quickly climbed to the top to crouch by the window. Dean looked in and scowled. The window was to the side of the store- room and he couldn't see anything but a wall of shelves in his way.

"Dammit," he sighed and eased the window open, surprised to not find it locked. Dean climbed through the window to the top of a sturdy shelf just under it and listened. There was nothing. If the police had been in the room, they'd left and all was silent. He climbed down the shelf and dropped to the floor softly and then it struck him that he couldn't just blow away the spirit if it manifested. The police and anyone else still in the building would hear.

"Son of a bitch," Dean swore softly. He considered climbing back out and then remembered one of the aisles they'd passed in the store room earlier. He smirked and started quickly up the center aisle; keeping his ears tuned to the doors at the far end while he reached into his pocket and turned his EMF meter on. "Just give me thirty seconds you asshole," Dean whispered as he jogged down the aisle toward the front. The weapons that had been thrown at them earlier still lay on the floor only now they sported little yellow, numbered markers. Crime scene photos, Dean surmised. It took a large effort on his part not to open those doors and look around, see if Lisa had been taken care of. Dean shook his head and looked down an aisle on his left with a smile.

Hanging on one wall of the aisle was a display of turn of the century fireplace tools; all iron. Dean grabbed one of the pokers just as the EMF in his pocket began to whine and he narrowed his eyes, going back to the aisle. "Alright, you son of a bitch. Let's dance."

Dean figured the spirit had to know who he was by now. This would make the ninth time he and Sam had found some of his bones and torched them. He was worried about Sam and had to push that thought away as the meter reached a fever pitch. At least if the ghost was here trying to kill him, it wasn't off trying to kill Sam, and in Dean's mind, that was all that mattered. Dean turned down the aisle holding the box with Magnus Dunlevy's hands. He tossed his bag to the table and then turned to pull the wooden box from its home. He let it hit the table with a thump and felt the air around him become frigid and his breath puffed out in front of his face.

He took hold of the small lock on the front of the box and tore it loose. It was more for show than actual security, and he tossed the lid open. Dean grabbed the salt out of his bag and upended it over the skeletal hands. He felt a cold shiver run down his spine and turned instinctively, swinging the antique iron poker. Magnus' spirit stood behind him. He was Dean's height, with a head of unruly black hair and piercing blue eyes that glared death at him as Dean swung. The iron rod swept through the center of his chest, dispersing the ghost with a dull roar, at least for the moment.

"Suck it, asshole," Dean growled and turned back to the box. He poured the last of the salt on the bones and then dug into the bag for the lighter fluid. There was a rattle from the box and Dean looked over at it. "Crap!" he shouted in surprise as one of the articulated hands flew out of the box and bony fingers clamped around his throat. Dean staggered back and banged into the shelves behind him while the fingers dug into his neck and tried to strangle him.

Dean dug his fingers under the bones and pried the hand loose. He sucked in a breath and slammed it back into the box. "Son of a bitch!" He grabbed the lighter fluid and squirted it into the box while he held the wriggling hands down. He dropped the can and dug his Zippo from his pocket while he wheezed and coughed with a healthy respect for what Sam was constantly going through considering how often things seemed to go for his brother's throat. The flame sputtered to life as Magnus' spirit appeared beside him and Dean dropped it into the box with a grin while he pulled his hand clear at the same moment.

"Sayonara, asshole!" Dean stepped away and waited for Magnus to be kicked out. He wouldn't be banished with his skull still intact, but there'd be nothing to hold him in the museum anymore. Dean's grin faltered because that meant the irate spirit would be tossed back to Sutro Baths with Sam and the need to defend the only piece of himself remaining. "Shit. Shit!" Dean pulled out his phone while Magnus suddenly smiled at him and drew a finger across his neck and then he was gone, blinked away. Dean cursed again under his breath as he dialed. He should have realized what was going to happen before lighting up the bones. The earlier events with Lisa dying in his arms must have thrown him more than he had realized. Not that any great alternatives readily sprang to mind, but he should have figured out SOMETHING before sending the thing straight for Sam.

Dean cursed as Sam's phone went to voicemail yet again and fear dropped into his stomach like a weight. "Dammit!"

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam stopped and leaned against the pipe on his right. It was dusty and stuffy under the ground where he'd fallen and it was making his head swim thanks to his concussion, and he was fairly sure he was the lucky recipient of a minor one at least. He smiled in a bit of a daze when he felt the river otter's head bump into his hand where it dangle beside him.

"I know. I'm moving," Sam told him wearily. The otter had been leading him on for at least fifteen minutes along the pipe with Sam's flashlight the only illumination. He was muzzy enough from his knock on the head to not even be sure what direction they were going, but he was damn sure what Dean would say if he knew his little brother was taking directions from a river otter.

"Kick my ass," Sam muttered and started moving again. "That's what he'd do." He smirked when the otter seemed to huff out a dismissive sort of breath and took the lead again. "Right. Keep…keep moving." He crawled after the otter. "Hey, Sam! Wait up!" Sam snorted, highly amused at yelling his own name despite the general crappiness of his situation. At least he wasn't too badly hurt and didn't seem to be in any sort of imminent danger of death, so that was a plus.

His voice echoed back to him along with Sutro Sam's peculiar chittering, and Sam looked up to see a larger room ahead with a taller, man-sized ceiling. Sam stepped down out of what he now realized was a service tunnel into the room and into an inch of water. He could heart it dripping and shone his light along the walls to make them glisten wetly. He found his otter guide rolling happily in the water in front of him and then spotted a door beyond.

"Nice." Sam smiled and crossed the room, unsteady on his feet but careful not to accidentally step on Sutro Sam. The door was old wood, and the handle broke off with a crack with Sam's first pull. "Well, hell." He frowned down at the suddenly chittering otter. "Don't laugh at me, dude."

Sam rested his aching head against the door for a moment and then sighed. He pulled his knife from the back of his belt and started digging into the door around where the handle had been mounted. The wood was softened with water damage and age and it made it easy to chip it away in chunks until he could reach the latching mechanism inside with his fingers. He got just enough to purchase to unlatch it and pull. The door opened with a loud squeal of hinges that went straight through his head with pain and left him leaning in the open door for a moment while he caught his breath. He felt the otter wind around his ankles and opened his eyes to look down.

"Don't suppose…you could carry me?" Sam asked and snorted when the animal just stared up at him. "Right. Stupid question." Sam aimed his light through the door and found a stair carved into the stone that quickly wound out of sight. He suddenly realized he hadn't tried to call his brother and fumbled his phone out of his pocket. He turned it on and groaned. "No bars. Of course." Sam shoved it back in his pocket and started up the stairs with Sutro Sam keeping pace beside him. He vaguely wondered at the obvious lack of fear the creature had of humans and how it actually seeming to be enjoying his company. He had the passing thought that maybe the otter had been fed or cared for by people when it was young, but the effort of just staying on his feet was taking most of his attention and he decided it didn't matter. He'd take help where he could find it.

"We…we run into my brother…m'callin' you Lassie, ok?" Sam rolled his eyes at himself. "Nothing personal." His humor fell away as he climbed with the knowledge that they likely wouldn't be running into Dean any time soon. Dean wasn't coming; not unless Sam managed to screw up any worse and his big brother had to come finish the job for him. He sighed and stopped, leaning his head on the cold stone to take a minute and catch his breath. He didn't want this to be another item on the list of things where Dean felt Sam had failed him. He wasn't sure he could take much more censure from his big brother about his shortcomings.

Sam had the things Dean had said in Kearney, Missouri, playing on a permanent loop in his head. He tried to tell himself it had only been the specter talking, but he knew that was a lie. The specter had simply given voice to the things that his big brother was already thinking. He'd heard far too many of them before and after the incident. It still hurt, having that bitch Ruby and the whole demon blood thing thrown back in his face. Yeah, he'd been wrong, but he'd paid for that mistake over and over and over again through 180 years of torture at the hands of Michael and Lucifer in the cage, and again in the aftermath of getting out. There'd been a time when Dean would have let it go, would have agreed that Sam had more than paid the price for those transgressions and more…so much more. But now…none of it seemed to count for anything anymore, nor did any of the rest of what they had shared and gone through together growing up and in those years before it all went bad…a lifetime of love and loyalty and caring, of shared good times and horrible times, all seemingly meaningless to Dean now.

Sam shook himself before he gave in to the emotion he felt threatening to overwhelm him and pushed away from the wall. Cas had taken the insanity in his head but not the memories, and sometimes thinking about them was all it took to make them swallow him again. "Nope. Not going there." He pushed the distant sound of chains and screams to the back of his mind and started up the stairs again.

He was holding himself up with the wall by the time he reached the top of the stairs and breathing heavily. Sam put his shoulder to the door he found at the top and pushed it open. "Crap!" Sam staggered back into the top of the stairs with his arm over his face as sunlight glared in and drove fresh pain through his abused head. He slid down the wall and rested his head on his knees, not moving when he felt Sutro Sam rub his head on his arm. "M'good," Sam mumbled. "Just…need a minute." Ideally, he knew he should be laying down somewhere, if not having his head scanned. Head injuries were one of the things they didn't play with, but he wasn't exactly in a position to go rushing back outside, across the basin, and up the bluff and then drive.

"Dammit." Sam reached a hand down and pulled his phone out again. He turned it back on and this time smiled with relief at the sight of the signal bars. There were three missed calls from his brother's number and Sam quickly dialed him, holding the phone to his ear while he kept his head down and waited for the pounding to stop.

"Sam? Where the hell have you been?" Dean's angry voice came through the phone and rang in his ears.

Sam immediately tossed what he'd been about to say - come help me. I'm hurt. "Sorry. Haven't been able to get a signal for a while." He pushed himself slowly up the wall, making himself stand and look out the door into the daylight again. It started an instant headache behind his eyes, but he ignored it and stepped outside to look around. "Made the mistake of trying to cut across the basin." He snorted softly even as he squinted in the light. "The ground is not stable out there. You alright?"

"I'm fine." Dean said and his voice was still contained anger; still livid that he'd let Magnus kill Lisa in front of him…but there was something in Sam's voice that made him pay attention. "You ok?"

Sam sighed. "I'm fine. I'm near the cave now," he said, spotting the dark opening yards away and he started toward it. "Give me an hour maybe and I'll find the skull."

"Watch your ass, Sam," Dean said, suddenly serious, his worry-fueled anger dissipating back into pure worry again. "I torched the bastard's hands, but he was pissed. He, uh…the curator's dead."

Sam sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. "Dean…I'm sorry." Guilt swept through him and he understood the anger in his brother's voice now. If he hadn't suggested they split up, he would have been there to help, to watch Dean's back like he was supposed to. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm good. Cas patched me up." Dean told him and checked his watch. "I'm heading to you. You should just wait for me."

"I'm…I'm fine, Dean. I can do this." Sam held a hand over his eyes against the light and aimed for the cave entrance. It stung knowing that once again, someone else had watched out for Dean, though it hurt a little less knowing it was the angel and not the vampire. Cas, at least, was family, no matter how broken he sometimes was. Besides, in their tiny circle, broken was practically a rite of passage. "I'm heading into the cave now."

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean yelled. "You do not get how pissed off this ghost is!"

"I can figure it out," Sam said, keeping his calm and sighed with relief when he stepped into the shadow of the cave. The relief was so great he swayed for a moment and had to slap both hands out to the wall to steady himself.

"Sam? What's goin' on?" Dean called out, clearly worried that his brother had been attacked.

"Nothing. Don't cross the open ground when you get here." Sam leaned against the wall. "Go around or you'll fall through. I'll see you when you get here. Hopefully have the skull taken care of by then." Sam cut the call off before Dean could yell at him again and blew out a breath. He really didn't trust Sam anymore, not even for a simple salt and burn.

Sam looked down when Sutro Sam scurried into the cave and stopped to look at him. "Don't imagine you know where the old guy's vault was?" The otter tilted its head to look at him and then ran back out. Sam heard a splash as it dove into the pool and nodded. "Ok. On my own. I can do this." He turned back into the cave and started down the sand-covered floor.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean stared at his phone for a moment as he drove and then shoved it in his pocket. He wasn't an idiot. He'd raised Sam. He knew every damn sound he'd made, and a year in Purgatory dulled his skills, yeah, but he still knew the sound of his brother hurting. Sam was hurt and not damn well telling him.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled because worrying about Sam was the last thing he needed after having to watch Lisa die. It pissed him off that his little brother didn't trust him enough to tell him he'd been hurt - enough to hide it, to not even mention it. That was generally Sam's default when he knew damn well he needed to stop. "Dammit, Sam." Dean coaxed more speed out of the Impala as he sped toward the Baths and his brother and hoped that he would get there before Magnus Dunlevy took matters into his own ghostly hands again. He had a brief flash of himself under the specter's control and the things he'd said, and he knew then why Sam was keeping more and more things from him; Dean hadn't exactly given him a reason to think he cared much lately. In fact, honestly trying to look at it from Sam's perspective, he had practically gone out of his way to make Sam think he didn't.

The Impala ate up the miles on the road, and still it took him an hour to reach the Baths and the sun was just started to set behind him as he climbed out of the car next to Sam's and went for a look over the edge. "Holy crap," Dean breathed as he looked down into the now shadowed basin below. His eyes scanned the ruins, spotting the pool, the ocean beyond and then focused on the darker shadow among shadows to his right that must be the cave entrance.

Dean pulled his shotgun out of the trunk and a flashlight and headed for the stairs. At least here, he didn't have to worry about someone hearing a gun going off and calling the police down on him. He remembered what Sam had said on the phone and stayed to the side, keeping one hand firmly on the rail as he moved quickly down the face of the bluff. He had to turn the flashlight on quickly with the sun hidden behind him and throwing him into gloom. "This is gonna suck once it's pitch dark. Shit," Dean grumbled as he raced down as quickly as he dared. He stumbled several times when a step crumbled under his foot and heaved a sigh of relief at the bottom.

Dean looked across the basin to the cave entrance and then at the ground itself between him and it with his brother's warning in his head. "Don't cross the basin." He considered ignoring the warning and then remembered - Sam was hurt and not talking about it and had been clear to warn Dean off crossing the open ground. "Dammit." He opted for the long way and jogged off around the perimeter of the ruins.

It was a much longer route, not just taking the easy way across, and Dean internally seethed with the delay. He ventured out onto the open ground once, but beat a hasty retreat back to the cliff wall when he felt the ground actually give under his feet. It had the effect of telling him what had likely happened to his brother. He looked out over the smooth sweep of open space more carefully in the dim light, finally spotting the darker spot of what was most likely a hole in the otherwise uniformly grey expanse. The voice in the back of his head that he hadn't been listening to much lately told him Sam had sounded a little dazed…concussed dazed…and Dean picked up the pace wondering what other injuries Sam was hiding and/or ignoring. "Crap, Sammy…" It was little more than a whisper.

Dean stopped outside the cave entrance and caught his breath. He played his flashlight along the ground and saw tracks leading inside. He stepped into the darkness and couldn't hear anything. "Sam?" he called and listened again. "Dammit." Dean shined the light along the floor and followed his brother's tracks. Thirty feet on, he splashed into shallow water and his brows rose, wondering if the cave actually flooded at any point. "Sam!" He stopped when he almost passed another tunnel on his left and knew that's where his brother had gone.

"Sam? Answer me, dammit!" Dean entered the tunnel and found a narrow, tight set of stairs cut into the very rock itself and leading up. His shoulders brushed the walls on either side of him in the tight space "SAM!" Dean winced with his own voice echoing back to him in the confined space. He stopped, bracing his hands on the walls when he thought he heard something from above. He listened intently and then burst into a run. He could hear voices raised, shouting, and one of them was his little brother's.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_To Be Continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Sam felt better out of the sun and in the darkness, broken only by the beam from his flashlight. It gave him a measure of relief from the pain and the nausea that had been steadily creeping up on him again. He was hoping that once he found the old Sutro vault and the skull, he'd be able to find the hatch that let out somewhere on top of the bluff. His research said it was buried from above but from the inside, he figured he'd be able to force it open.

He found a narrow set of stairs halfway down the tunnel and his shoulders were broad enough that he had to turn a little sideways to walk up them. He smirked and rolled his eyes as he could almost hear his big brother's voice calling him a sasquatch. Sam shined his light around the walls as he went. They were rough-hewn and covered in a fine layer of dust that clung to his already dirt-covered jacket as he went. They spiraled up, and Sam thought he had to be somewhere near the top of the bluffs just as he ran out of stairs and his light played down a short, stone corridor that branched in either direction. He looked both directions down the hall and tried to decide which way to go. He turned to the right and shrugged. One looked much like the other, really, and he thought maybe the one to the right was heading back toward the bluff where the house had once stood, rather than the ocean.

Sam followed the tunnel as it turned left once and then right again and frowned when he heard what sounded like a voice somewhere ahead. "Hello?" Sam called. He pulled his bag around with a soft groan as the bruise over his right kidney reminded him it was there and pulled out his sawed-off shotgun just in case it was the now-incensed ghost of Magnus Dunlevy trying to screw with him. He realized as he neared the end that there was a flickering light ahead and he turned off his flashlight. Sam moved stealthily toward the light and reached into his pocket to turn the EMF meter on. He raised a brow in surprise when it didn't react; he'd been sure the noise and the light were due to the ghost.

"Hello?" Sam called again, because if it wasn't a ghost, then it was a human, and he didn't want to terrify anyone unnecessarily. Still, he was cautious. He knew tourists sometimes came here, but the place had been deserted when he had started his exploration, and he knew it was getting late in the day…probably getting on towards sunset. A little late for casual visitors. "Is someone else down here?" The tunnel curved slightly, and he saw a door a little ways ahead where the light was coming from. Sam tensed when a shadow moved in the light and then a dark head appeared in the door.

"What on earth?" An older man with blond hair just starting to gray stepped into the hall and stared in surprise at Sam. "I didn't think anyone came up here anymore!"

"Oh, I was, uh…exploring." Sam nodded and smiled faintly.

"With a shotgun?" The man asked, incredulous.

Sam shoved the gun behind him and ran a hand through his hair as he neared the door. "Well, there was…"

"You look like you've had some trouble, son." The man frowned as the very tall young man stepped into the light and he got a good look at him. "What on earth have you gotten into?"

Sam realized he must look a sight, covered in sand, mud, and dust. "Oh, I fell through some unstable ground outside. Roof just caved in on the old pipe tunnels. Who are you?"

"Fell? Are you hurt? Come here. Come on. I'm Dr. Mason." The doctor smiled. "You can call me Carl."

"Sam. I'm fine, really," Sam protested but didn't wrench his arm free when Dr. Mason took hold and pulled him into the lit room. "I just got a little banged up."

"Mmm hmm." Dr. Mason tugged him into the room through the door and pushed him onto a bench just inside the door. "Sit."

Sam looked around as he lowered himself to the bench and raised a brow. The room they were in had a couple benches and a small table with a lit hurricane lamp but was otherwise empty. There was another, heavy wooden door on the opposite wall with a crowbar sticking out of the jamb between the door and the frame. "Let me guess…the old Sutro vault?"

Dr. Mason chuckled and nodded as he moved behind Sam. He took the bag from the man's arm and set it on the bench beside him as he pulled a small penlight from his pocket. "As a matter of fact, yes. I lived here when I was a kid." He smiled at the surprise on Sam's face. "Well, not down here, obviously. Up in the house. My mom cleaned house for old man Sutro right before everything burned." He shone his light on the back of Sam's head and frowned, seeing the remnants of drying blood matting some of the hair. "When he died recently, he willed us a few things, a painting among them that my mother had loved." He slid his fingers carefully into Sam's hair. "Sorry," he said softly when Sam hissed in pain just as his fingers pressed over a bump and small cut. "I thought I'd have a go at finding it seeing as I remembered vaguely where the house was." He walked back around in front of Sam and grabbed his chin. "Look up for me."

Sam winced when the penlight flashed first into one eye and then the other. "You came in from the top?" He groaned when Dr. Mason nodded. "Wish I'd known that earlier."

"Hmm, yes. I don't doubt it. You, Sam, are the recipient of a shiny new concussion." Carl smirked and put the light away. "Your pupils are even, which is good. They're also a tad sluggish, which is not so good. You need bed rest and fluids and not to be clomping around in drafty underground tunnels and falling through ceilings."

Sam chuckled and nodded. "I was kind of hoping to find the way out up top so I didn't have to walk back around the basin."

"Headache?" Carl asked, seeing the frown between Sam's eyes and nodded. "Probably nausea too, which you no doubt won't admit to." He raised a finger. "I know my patients. I can pick the stubborn ones out a mile away."

Sam snorted and stood. "You should meet my brother." He went over to the other door and put a hand on the crowbar. "I can probably get this open for you."

"Forgive me for being a little stuck on this point, but, again…why a shotgun?" Carl frowned. He was generally a good judge of character and nothing about the young man in front of him screamed 'danger' to him, but the gun was definitely out of place here. "Not something most people bring to explore Sutro Baths, you know."

Sam sighed and turned to lean against the wall, studying the man across from him. Between the pounding headache and the sense that he was running out of time before old Magnus showed up, he didn't have the time nor the energy to try to come up with one of Dean's cockamamie stories that people always seemed to buy into. "It's loaded with rock salt."

"Rock salt."

Sam nodded. "It's very effective."

"Against?" Carl watched Sam's face curiously.

"Well…" Sam shrugged uncomfortably and sighed. "It's…I'm here to find something too. There's a…well, a skull in there and I need to destroy it."

Carl's eyes went wide. "Really? And why would that be?"

Sam huffed out a breath. "You're going to think I'm nuts."

"You have a concussion. I can chalk a lot of things up to that if need be," Carl said with a hint of a smile and waved at him to proceed. "What does a skull have to do with a shotgun?"

"Because the person the skull belonged to is still around and bound to get a little pissed off as soon as I get anywhere near it." Sam stopped and watched the doctor's face, waiting. He saw recognition and then disbelief on the man's face and nodded. "There's a ghost. A very angry ghost."

"You're a Ghostbuster?" Carl asked with disbelief and snorted. He started to laugh and then stopped when Sam's face stayed deadly serious. "Oh, goodness. You actually mean that."

Sam shrugged. "Told you, you'd think I'm nuts." He smiled. "In fact, you should probably just go and let me do this and come back tomorrow. You'll be safer."

"An angry…ghost is going to try and stop you from…destroying his skull," Carl said slowly and raised both brows. "Well, I'd probably be a little upset with you too."

Sam gave a wry smile. "Well, he's, uh…he's killed a few people, sir. This is the only way we know to stop ghosts like this."

"We…ghosts like this?" The doctor shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "You and your brother? This is what you do?"

"Among other things. Yeah." Sam waited for the inevitable protests of impossibility.

Doctor Mason worked hard to take in what Sam was telling him. On the surface, it seemed ridiculous, and yet… "When I was a boy, I remember my mother telling me how the woman she replaced left one night. She said the old housekeeper had refused to ever set foot in the house again because of something she'd seen. And there were other stories too - people who worked here and told tales about a skull…in the vault, and cold spots and visions and impossible accidents." He met Sam's eyes. "Part of me thinks, yes, you're nuts, but…I think maybe I have to work on the presumption that I don't know everything."

Sam opened his mouth in surprise and then smiled. "Doc, I think I like you."

Carl chuckled and shrugged. "When you get to be my age, you learn not to be too hard-headed about the things you think you know."

"You're not that old," Sam smiled. "Now, please. You need to go so I can do this."

"Sam." Carl shook his head and smiled. "I'd be a poor doctor indeed to leave a concussed man in a potentially dangerous situation just to save my own skin. Now, door?"

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but the set look on the man's face told him it would be pointless. He rolled his eyes and then groaned softly when it sent a dull wave of pain through his head. "Uh, right. Door."

Carl pursed his lips in concern while Sam turned away to take hold of the crowbar and moved so he could keep a careful eye on him. "I am serious about the concussion, you know. Don't push yourself too hard. I certainly can't carry you out of here if you pass out on me."

"I'm good. Really. Don't worry," Sam assured him and took a firm hold on the crowbar. He grunted with effort as he pushed on the bar and fought to open the door. "Come on," he muttered and put his back into it. His head started to pound and, just as he was about to give in and take a break, there was a loud crack and the door popped open. Sam staggered back and was grateful for the hands he felt take his arm and steady him.

"Sam. Sit. Come on," Carl pulled him back to the bench and pushed him. Sam had paled visibly just as he'd gotten the door open and bent while the doctor watched to hold his head in his hands. "Just take a minute and breathe. You'll be alright in a minute."

Sam nodded slowly and blew out a breath while his head ached. "Crap," he said with feeling.

"Take it easy now." Carl patted his back lightly and then looked at the open door. He picked up the hurricane lamp from the table and went to the door to peer through. The flickering light from the lamp showed a room cluttered with boxes and tables, cloth-covered objects and dusty paintings hanging on the walls and covered with drop cloths. Ropes hung motionless from a darker circle in the ceiling that must once have been part of a stair leading down into the room. "I had no idea there was this much down here. Wow." He stepped cautiously into the room and set the lamp on cloth-covered table to cast its light around the room.

"Carl?" Sam looked up and realized suddenly he was alone and the light had moved. He'd been so distracted waiting for the pounding in his head to stop he hadn't noticed the doc had moved away. His eyes widened and he stood shakily. "Carl! Get out of there!"

"I'm fine, Sam." Carl smiled for the boy's protective nature and went back to the door. "There's nothing in here. I mean, there's just stuff." He smiled again at the concern on Sam's face, and then his eyes blew wide in shock as he felt something wrapping around his ankles. The doctor looked down to find rope twined about his legs, and then he was yanked from his feet to crash into the floor. The rope pulled him roughly back into the room and Carl only just managed to grip the frame of the door and stop himself. "Sam!"

"NO!" Sam shouted and grabbed up his shotgun. He ran for the door, going to a knee to reach for Carl and gasped as the door swung shut. Carl's voice screamed from inside the vault, and Sam took hold of the handle. He planted a foot against the wall next to it and pulled. "Hang on!" Sam forced the door open again, releasing Carl's trapped hands and saw with a jolt of sympathetic pain that the man's hands had been crushed when the door slammed closed. Sam stood as Carl was freed. He grabbed his shotgun and fired at the rope tethering the man's legs.

Carl gasped as the gun boomed and the rope around his ankles loosened. He laid gasping on the floor and looking up at Sam, still too terrified to look at his own hands. He was a doctor; he knew it was going to be bad just from the pain and numbness without even looking.

"Come on." Sam bent and slid a hand under Carl's shoulder and pulled him to his feet. "You need to get out of here."

"Didn't really…believe you," Carl said through clenched teeth as he staggered out of the vault and back into the darkened antechamber. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

"It's ok," Sam said softly. He could see the crushed ruin that was the doctor's hands and hear drops of blood hitting the stone floor. "I've got a first-aid kit in my bag. We'll…"

"SAM!" Carl yelled when he felt Sam jerk and looked up as a loop of rope whipped out from the door behind them to lasso itself around the man's throat. "NO!" Carl instinctively reached out to hold on to him and choked on a scream of agony as his mangled fingers tried and failed to grasp Sam's shirt.

"Run!" Sam yelled, and his voice was cut off when the coarse rope tightened around his neck like a noose. He was pulled from his feet so suddenly he lost his grip on the shotgun as he slammed into the floor and was dragged back into the vault. He had a dizzying view of the anteroom, Carl's terrified face, and Sam blinked in surprise as he thought he saw his brother a second before the vault door slammed closed.

Sam tried to get his fingers under the rope that was pulled taut under his chin. He managed to pull in a sliver of air, and then he was pulled from the floor and dragged up toward the ceiling. The impromptu noose tightened, and Sam's vision began to darken. He frantically tried to get loose even as his fingers started to go numb. Fresh pain slammed through his head with the lack of oxygen, and he felt his arms drop uselessly to his sides, unable to stop it. As his vision started to go gray, his only thought was that he was probably never going to see his brother again, and the hurt and pain between them would be the last thing that they had of each other. With his last shreds of consciousness, he sent out a silent, desperate prayer that Dean would someday forgive him.

"Sam! NO!" Dr. Mason ran to the door as it closed with a bang and tried, even through his own agony, to get a grip on the handle and open it.

"MOVE!"

Carl jumped at the bellowed command and turned to find another man behind him, his face set in a grim cast that he could see even with only the man's flashlight to go by. "Who…"

"Now!" Dean pushed the man roughly aside and shoved his flashlight at him. "Hold that! SAM!" He grabbed the handle of the door while the light wavered and then steadied, and he pulled with a growl of effort while the image of Sam being hanged and strangled to death taunted him.

Dr. Mason fumbled to hold the flashlight and settled for gripping it between his wrists to give the man, who he surmised must be Sam's brother, enough light to work by. "Hurry," he said softly.

Dean ignored him and wrenched the door open so hard, it popped from one of its hinges to hang at an angle as he tossed it back. The sight that greeted him froze his breath in his lungs for a heartbeat as he watched his little brother dangling limply from a rope near the ceiling in the flickering orange light of a hurricane lamp. One of Sam's feet gave a feeble twitch and Dean was in motion. He pulled his knife and leaped up onto a table next to his brother. He pulled Sam in against his chest with one arm and reached above him with the other to cut the rope holding him. Dean grunted when Sam's full weight slumped into him.

"Crap. Sam?" Dean staggered and then slid down to his knees with Sam, stumbling off the table with him. "Come on, buddy. Come on."

"Hurry! Hurry!" Carl swallowed his fear and went back into the vault while Sam's brother dragged him toward the door with his arms clasped around his back. He saw Sam's shotgun lying on the floor and blew out an aggravated breath, knowing he couldn't even pick it up, let alone use it.

Dean got his brother out of the vault and laid him down quickly before going back to the door. He took hold of it, straightened the door and pushed it back home into its frame. "Who the hell are you?" Dean demanded when he turned and found the stranger kneeling beside his brother's head.

"Carl Mason. I'm a doctor. You've got to get this off him now!" Carl looked worriedly at Sam's face as he held the flashlight to him.

Dean dropped beside his little brother and quickly tugged the length of rough rope free. It had abraded a bloody ring around Sam's throat and up under his chin. His heart clenched into a tight knot when he realized his brother was not breathing and his lips were turning from pale to blue, but there was no time to give in to the panic he felt coming on. "Come on, Sammy," Dean begged. He thumped his fist into his brother's sternum and grinned with relief when Sam gasped in a breath. "That's my boy.

"Oh, thank God," Carl sighed weakly when Sam started to breathe for himself. "You're his brother."

"Dean. Again, who are you?" Dean caught the arm Sam suddenly flailed out and held on to him. "Hey! Hey! Open your eyes, Sam. You're ok. I've got you."

Sam gasped for breath. His head swam and he wasn't sure why he was alive. He cracked his eyes open when Dean's voice registered and he found himself looking up at his big brother. "Dean?" Sam croaked and then started coughing.

"Easy. Easy." Dean pulled Sam up so he was sitting and let him lean against his chest while he tried to catch his breath. He squeezed a hand over the back of Sam's neck, grimacing at the feel of blood and abraded skin and allowed himself one terrified shudder. He looked over his brother's trembling head to the doctor and stared in shock. "What the hell happened to your hands?"

Carl was shivering with the beginning stages of shock he realized and finally looked down at himself. "I…it tried to grab me first. The door crushed…Sam saved me."

Dean smiled grimly and squeezed his brother's neck again. "He does that. Sam? You with me yet?" The wheezing breaths he was hearing weren't making him feel better, but Sam nodded and leaned back a little on his own to look at him blearily.

"Really…" Sam had to stop and cough again. His throat felt constricted even with the rope gone. "Really here?"

"Yeah, Sam." Dean let him take his own weight and spotted his bag on the bench. "First aid kit in there?"

Sam nodded again and put his hands to his neck with a wince. "Yeah…camp…camp light too." He watched Dean pull the salt out first, relieved when his big brother went back to the now closed door and poured a line of salt in front of it before going back to the bag.

"Shorter breaths, Sam," Carl told the clearly struggling young man. "Slow and short. Look up at me. That's it." Carl watched Sam's eyes as his flashlight crossed them and didn't like the even more sluggish reaction now nor the dangerous pallor of his face.

Sam fought to get his breathing under control while Dean knelt next to him again. He shook his head. "Hands…his hands first."

Dean stared and then nodded. The doctor's hands were obviously the worse injury and whether the man realized it or not, he was shaking like a leaf. "Ok, buddy. Lemme see those hands, doc."

"Carl. Call me…this really hurts." Carl held his hands out and tried to look critically at them. "Suppose it's a good thing I didn't become a brain surgeon now."

Dean grimaced as he turned on the camp light and set it down to get a good look. The doctor's hands were pretty well mangled. "Got at least a couple broken fingers," he observed, seeing the shine of bone among the blood and torn skin.

Carl nodded. "Couple of them are numb. It's bad. Just…just pour some of that disinfectant there over them and wrap them loosely for now. Definitely a hospital in our future."

Dean glanced over at his brother for a second and nodded in agreement because Sam looked like hell. "Hold still."

"He's concussed, by the way," Carl said quickly and then gritted his teeth through the pain while Dean poured the disinfectant over his hands.

"Already figured that out," Dean said and grimaced in sympathy while the doctor swayed for a moment before righting himself. "Alright?"

Carl nodded. "Good…I'm….I'll be fine."

Sam had been listening to the conversation sort of distantly while he attempted to keep breathing, but it was becoming more and more difficult to focus. He watched Dean wrap loose bandages around Carl's hands while spots started to dance in his vision. Sam slapped a hand out, fumbling for his brother in a moment of panic as he opened his mouth wide, trying to pull in air past a throat that was no longer cooperating. He couldn't even say Dean's name, only give a choked sort of grunt.

"Sammy?" Dean turned quickly with his brother's hand fisting in his jacket sleeve.

"Oh, no." Carl gaped. "Lay him flat! Quickly!" He waved his bandaged hands at Sam. "He can't breathe!"

"Shit!" Dean took hold of his brother's shoulders and eased Sam down to the floor while his brother's panicked eyes stared up at him. "Sammy?"

"Being strangled like that, his throat's swelling and cutting off his airway." Carl hovered uselessly above Sam and could only watch while his eyes rolled back in his head even as his body bucked in protest of being starved of oxygen.

"What do we do? What the hell can I do?" Dean asked plaintively and took hold of Sam's face. "Sam! Stay with me, man. Come on! No, no, no!" Sam went limp in his grip, and Dean felt something break deep within his soul as the memory of holding his dying brother in a dark muddy street in the middle of nowhere rushed back to him and threatened to overwhelm him. But he was raised a Winchester, John's son, and with great effort he managed to force himself to focus on the present. "Doc?"

Carl anguished for only a moment and then steeled himself. He wasn't going to let the young man who'd saved his life die in front of him. "Dean! I need you to listen to me. We only have minutes. DEAN!" Dean jerked and looked angrily over at him. "Pour some of that on his neck, and then you need a small knife, the sharper the better, and something for a tube. Oh! I have a pen in my pocket. Here." Carl pointed one hand toward his jacket. He was about to yell again when Dean finally snapped out of his paralysis and moved.

"What are you gonna do?" Dean asked with desperation heavy in his tone while his heart tried to beat out of his chest in panic. He dug through the doctor's pocket and came out with a thick, heavy pen, the kind doctors always seemed to prefer, and that made him roll his eyes.

"Get the pen open, we need the tube." Carl moved so he was sitting opposite Dean over Sam's head and he awkwardly pulled the camp light closer so the white light fell on the boy's throat. "Hurry, Dean." In his head, the seconds were ticking away.

Dean emptied the pen until he just had the tube and took out his penknife, holding them out. "Ok, here."

Carl stared at him and shook his head. "You have to do this, Dean. I can't!" He held up his bandaged hands. "You're going to give him an emergency tracheotomy, and you need to do it now before we lose him!"

"What?" Dean reared back in shock. "Give him…are you fuckin' crazy? I don't know how to do that!" Dean stared gape-mouthed at Carl while his brother slipped away in front of him. "I've seen it done on MASH! I don't think that's gonna cut it! You have to!"

"Either you do it or he's going to die. Right now." Carl held his bandaged hands and broken fingers out again. "You CAN do this, Dean. NOW. We're out of time."

Dean stared at him for a fraction of a second longer, and then swallowed hard around the lump of terror in his throat, grabbed the bottle, and looked down at Sam. "What the hell am I doing?" he muttered as he took the disinfectant and poured a little over Sam's throat. He set it aside and pressed his fingers gently against Sam's neck. He could still see the flutter of Sam's pulse there, but it wouldn't last much longer he knew. He picked up the knife that suddenly, for the first time in his life, felt awkward and clumsy in his hand. Steeling himself, his voice barely more than a whisper, "What…where do I cut?"

"Just below his Adam's apple, into the larynx. Yes, there." Carl said as Dean's fingers brushed over the bump in Sam's throat and settled below it. "Make the cut about a half inch across and the same deep. Hurry, Dean. Please."

Dean took a deep breath and placed the tip of his penknife against his brother's skin. The thought of actually cutting into Sam's throat nearly paralyzed him again, but the sight of Sam's lips turning blue gave Dean the last boost of desperation he needed. It was either act or watch his brother die in front of him yet again, and this time it very likely would be for good with their usefulness to the angels and Lucifer a thing of the past. He pressed the blade into his little brother's throat and made the cut.

"Ok, good! Stop! That's enough. Now take the pen tube and push it through. It should slide right into his larynx." Carl watched nervously and wished he could be the one performing the risky procedure. "You're doing fine, Dean."

"No, I'm not," Dean whispered. His fingers were slick with his brother's blood, but he swallowed the fear and hopelessness back. He couldn't let Sam die – not here…not now. Not after everything they'd been through, and sure as hell not with him believing any of the crap Dean had been throwing at him lately. The thought of his baby brother, who he had practically raised and would willingly throw himself back into hell to save, dying thinking Dean didn't care about him was tearing at Dean's soul in a way all of Alistair's torture had never managed to achieve. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the tube of the pen into the hole he'd created. He had to force it through skin and muscle, but it finally slipped into place and he sagged forward in relief when he heard the instant whistle of air through it.

"That's it!" Carl exclaimed and watched Sam's chest begin to rise and fall. It was shallow, but he was breathing, and the blue tinge to his lips slowly started to fade. "Ok. Alright. We have to pack it, keep the tube from slipping out or moving while we get him out of here."

Dean nodded numbly. He gently cleaned away as much blood as he could and packed gauze around the end of the pen tube and taped a bandage in place around it to hold it. When he was done, he sat back and ran a shaking hand over Sam's head and back into his hair, just holding on to him while his breath shuddered out of him.

"He's going to panic when he wakes up." Carl said seriously and wished he could hold Dean's shoulder, offer the obviously shaken man some sort of comfort. "You HAVE to keep his head and neck stable and not let him knock the tube out or we're right back where we were." He stopped and waited for Dean to nod that he was paying attention. The man had yet to take his eyes from his brother. "He won't be able to talk, and it's going to make him want to cough. It's going to hurt."

"He'll be fine," Dean said softly and kept his eyes glued to his little brother's pale face. "He's gotta be. He's not allowed to die thinkin' I'm still pissed at him." It was little more than a ragged whisper as Dean cradled his brother's head and waited for him to wake, a single tear slipping past his defenses to trail down his cheek unnoticed.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_To Be Continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Dr. Mason watched Dean watch his brother and suffered for him. "We're very near the top of the bluffs here. There's a hatch down the other end of the tunnel. Getting him out shouldn't be too hard if he can help us. It's how I got down here."

Dean appreciated Carl's rambling for what it was - an attempt to lessen the tension while they waited. "That's good."

"Are we, uh…are we safe out here?" Carl asked suddenly as his eyes went to the closed door to the vault.

Dean nodded. "The salt line should keep him off our asses for now." He didn't take his eyes off his brother because that innate sense of his told him Sam was about to come back around. He could sense a tension in the head he held in his hands and saw Sam's eyes begin to move under his closed lids. Dean held Sam's head still when he felt the first flinch of movement and leaned over him. "Sammy. That's it, buddy. Wake up." The tube protruding from his throat amidst the bloody bandages made Dean hurt just looking at it, and he wasn't looking forward to explaining it. He couldn't see any way that Sam didn't freak the hell out. Hell, HE was fighting hard not to freak out.

"Is he coming around?" Carl got back to his knees and looked around Dean's shoulder.

"Yeah. He's almost there. Sam." Dean spoke firmly and evenly, working to keep his voice calm. Sam's eyes scrunched more tightly, the whistling from the tube in his throat grew louder, and Sam's arms and legs twitched as his eyes flew open. "Whoa! Sam! Look at me! Look at me!"

Carl couldn't use his hands so he practically laid over top of Sam to keep his arms trapped before the boy could reach for his throat. "I have his arms, more or less."

"Sam!" Dean ruthlessly held Sam's head still and waited for his frantic, terrified hazel eyes to meet his. When they locked on, Dean could read the fear in them, and it felt as if Sam, unable to reach up with his arms, was trying to latch onto his very soul through his eyes. Dean kept his gaze steady, letting Sam draw what he needed from him, and gave a small reassuring nod. "It's ok! You're ok. I know it feels weird, your neck, but it's…I had to put a tube in your neck, Sam." Dean had to bear down to keep his little brother from rearing up. "I know! I know! It's letting you breathe. Now calm down! You NEED to calm down. I've got you. I'm not going to let anything happen to you." It was tearing him up to have to restrain his brother like this, and Dean knew it had to be pushing a few buttons for Sam - being restrained, the blood, the pain, the dark room…if Sam didn't have a flashback to the Cage at some point, Dean would be surprised.

"You're not there. You're out. You're safe." Dean stared steadily down at him and waited for Sam's wild eyes to meet his again. "You need to stay as still as you can. There's a tube in your throat right now, letting you breathe. Sammy…we were losin' you, man." Dean's voice dropped at the end.

Sam heard it, that desperate hitch in his brother's voice, and saw the fear in his eyes. It was that which let him finally get a grip on his own terror at waking up the way he had. He gave a small nod and tried not to panic with the unnatural sensation of air not coming through his mouth and nose. His throat felt…he didn't even have words for it…and the pain was centered in the front where he could feel bandages taped to his skin. He felt like he was choking, and the instinct to cough made his eyes water with pain.

"Hey, hey! Take it easy." Dean held his eyes and gave him a small smile. "No coughing. No talking. Just keep breathing. I know it hurts and it feels weird, but just…keep breathin' for me, ok?"

Sam closed his eyes once and opened them, letting Dean know he understood and that he'd try not to freak out again.

Carl cautiously moved off of Sam and trusted Dean to stop him when Sam raised his hands toward his neck. "Dean."

"He's good," Dean said surely. He felt Sam's hands bump into the back of his shoulder and then fist in his jacket, purposefully not reaching for the mess at the front of his neck. Dean smiled. "That's my boy. I'm gonna get you up. You need to let me do most of the work and just not…don't move your neck too much, alright?" Sam gave him a short nod, barely moving his head and Dean smiled again with pride for him. They had both woken up way too many times injured and in pain, but this…this had to be terrifying for Sam, but after the initial shock, he had pulled himself back from the brink of panic with that strength of will that always left Dean a little in awe on those occasions when Sam let it show through. Sam was pretty sure Dean never realized that Sam drew that strength from him.

He looked over at Carl, finally feeling steady enough to break eye contact with Sam. "Doc, you think you can grab that bag and the guns?"

"I can manage." Carl said firmly and got to his feet. He'd make it work so that Dean wouldn't have to worry about it while keeping his brother calm.

"Ok, Sammy. Want you to grab hold of me, ok?" Dean waited until Sam slid his arms up and gripped his shoulders. Dean saw the shine of tears in his eyes and suffered for him. "Here we go." He leaned back and pulled Sam with him, very carefully keeping his head still in his hands as he did, and kept an eagle-eye on the tube in Sam's throat. "Easy. Alright. Going up." Dean readjusted his position and his grip on his brother and slowly brought them to their feet.

Sam swayed, closing his eyes while his head swam, and would have gone down if not for Dean's sure hold on him. The panic started to rise up again with the feeling of being slowly choked, but Dean was there, staring at him again, and Sam held on to that to stay calm…or as calm as he could manage under the circumstances.

Dean pulled one of Sam's arms around his waist so Sam could hold on to him while they walked and so that he could have both hands on him; one on his head and the other on his neck, to keep him still. "Ok, little brother. You keep a hold of me and we're getting out of here."

"Do you need help?" Carl asked worriedly. He'd managed to shove both shotguns and the first aid kit into the bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"I got him. Lead the way since you know where we're goin'." Dean started after the doctor with his brother at a slow walk. The truth was, he was pretty sure Sam wouldn't want anyone but Dean holding onto him at the moment. He could easily see the panic his little brother was barely containing and feel it in the fine tremors that coursed through him. Sam was having trouble holding on to reality, and Dean wondered with a sudden pang just how many times that had happened in the year he'd been gone…the year Sam had thought him dead. How many times since Dean came back had his brother been fighting the demons in his head? Castiel had taken the madness but not the memories. Sane or not, a hundred and eighty years of torture didn't just stop affecting you. How many times had Sam wanted to turn to him but didn't, fearing his anger…or worse, his apathy? Dean shoved the thought aside with a skill born of years of practice. He'd deal with that crap later. Right now he had a little brother to take care of.

Sam kept a tight hold of Dean as they moved down the tunnel. Carl had the camp light's handle over one of his wrists and was lighting the way for them. Every step felt like it jarred the thing in his throat, and memories better left forgotten of other times things had been stabbed into him and left that didn't belong there, rose up to try and choke him. Each time, he'd tighten his fists in his brother's jacket until his knuckles turned white, and each time, it was like Dean knew and would talk softly to him, grounding Sam with his voice while his hands kept his head steady.

His brother's gentle voice reassuring him and strong hands keeping him from further harm flooded Sam with a warmth that had been missing for so long he had almost forgotten the strength and power of it. Sam's eyes stung with how much he had missed 'this' Dean, the Dean that cared and dropped everything to protect him…to take care of him. His breath hitched in his chest, made more difficult by the constricted flow of air he was having to make do with while tears escaped his eyes, and it was several moments before he realized they weren't walking anymore. Dean had him leaned against the stone wall with both hands around his jaw and was trying to get his attention.

"Sam, come on. Slow it down," Dean said pleadingly and could only imagine how hard it had to be breathing through that tiny damn tube. "You can do this. Just a little longer. Gonna get you outta here and into a nice comfy hospital bed. Find ya a hot nurse even. You can do this, Sammy." He nodded, relieved when Sam seemed to calm and met his eyes again. Another time, Dean would tease him for the tear tracks on his face…then again, maybe not. He smiled and got Sam back against his side, under his arm.

"It's just a little farther," Carl called and was choked up a little himself as he watched Dean take care of his brother and the trust Sam clearly had in him. "This way. We're almost there."

Dean kept Sam moving and as calm as he could and smiled when he saw a short, old wooden stair ahead of them in the light. "There it is, Sam. Just a little further, dude. You got this." It took longer to help Sam climb those rickety stairs than it had getting him down the hall, Dean thought. Every step had threatened to make Sam move wrong and dislodge the tube until Dean had finally settled one hand around the front of his neck over the bandages with the tube between two of his fingers to keep it stabilized.

"We should lay him down here and call an ambulance." Carl told Dean once they were all above ground. "Should have cell service up here and he really needs to not move too much."

Dean considered arguing that he could get his brother to the car and take him in himself but the thought of trying to keep Sam calm, the tube where it belonged and drive at the same time made his head pound and he nodded instead. "Ok, Sammy. I'm gonna sit you down now." Dean looked around the narrow plateau in the dark and sincerely hoped there was nothing waiting for them. Dean saw the look of rebellion on his brother's face and shook his head. "No way, dude. We're waiting here. I'm not screwin' around with this."

Sam closed his eyes in defeat and let Dean lower him to the ground. In truth, he was having trouble putting one foot in front of the other and staying on his feet. The fact that he couldn't take a deep breath had spots dancing in front of his eyes, or maybe that was left over from the concussion. He wasn't sure anymore, and he let himself relax back onto the still sun-warmed rock with Dean's help and closed his eyes.

Dean made the call to 911 quickly and then looked at Dr. Mason as he sat on the ground beside them to wait. "Doc, you can't tell them the truth," he said seriously. "No one'd believe it. We're gonna tell them we were exploring and Sam fell, got hung up in some old rope."

"That's a flimsy story at best." Carl said and blew out a breath. "But you're probably right. I can't exactly go in there and say a ghost did this to us." He raised his bandaged, blood-spotted hands up sadly. "I suppose I was injured in the same fall?"

Dean smiled tightly and nodded. "Yep. A big rock was dislodged and landed on your hands. Just keep it simple and most of the time, doctors don't look twice." He shrugged at the look of disbelief on the man's face. "We been doin' this a long time, doc. Most people see what they wanna see." He grabbed Sam's hand when his little brother raised it up toward him and held on tight. "Right here, buddy." Dean had his other hand on Sam's forehead, keeping his head still. "You just keep breathing."

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam blinked sluggish eyes open and startled to find he was no longer outside but looking up at a white ceiling. He had a vague memory of an ambulance, of being carried on a stretcher and panicking in the ambulance and then…Dean's face had been there again to calm him down. He opened his mouth to call for his brother and gagged at the sensation of a tube down his throat. He raised his hands up fearfully and jumped when they were grabbed.

"Whoa! Don't do that!" Dean had dozed off but the sound of his brother choking woke him instantly in time to stop Sam trying to pull out the intubation tube they'd given him. "Hey. Hey. I'm right here, Sam." Dean leaned up and over so Sam could see his face and smiled. "You're in the hospital. They took out my handiwork and put this in until the swelling in your throat goes down. You ok?" Sam gave him an incredulous look and Dean chuckled. "Right; other than the whole stuck breathin' through a tube thing."

Sam put a hand to the front of his throat and felt a pad of gauze taped where the pen tube had been and he looked up at Dean questioningly.

"The doc says you're gonna sound like Batman for a couple weeks probably, but you'll be fine." Dean read the question in his brother's eyes easily. "You just have to not talk too much for a while." He smirked. "I'm likin' this plan." He grinned and laughed when Sam punched him weakly in the arm and actually managed a version of the bitchface, breathing tube and all. "Shut up, Sammy." Dean put a hand on his shoulder and waited for Sam's eyes to meet his again. "Your buddy Carl said they'd probably have that tube outta you in the morning." He looked at his watch. "Which is only a few hours away at this point."

Sam stared in surprise and then closed his eyes, trying not to fight the thing holding his throat open for him. It was a relief to be able to take a deep breath again and the pain was mostly gone. He felt a little floaty and disconnected and recognized the sensation of high grade painkillers in his system. For once, he was grateful for them.

Dean sat back in his chair next to the bed but kept his hand on his brother's shoulder. "They said you've got a mild concussion, headaches for a few days, maybe some dizziness, and that you bruised your right kidney." Dean sat up again and tapped his brother's jaw. "Next time I ask you if you're ok, you tell me the damn truth," he said fiercely, referring to their short phone call before Sam had gone into the cave. "The doc told me, so don't even try to say the gash on the back of your head and the bruise the size of a damn dinner plate on your back aren't from whatever fall you took crossing that basin. How long were you unconscious, Sam? An hour, two?"

Sam raised a hand and one finger. He couldn't exactly argue right now anyway and was too tired to bother.

Dean blew out a breath and nodded. He thought back to all the things that had gone through his mind during his fear-filled drive to Sutro Baths and the things that had terrified him while trying to save his brother's life in that room - all the things that would have broken him if Sam had died with them being left unsaid. He had never been one for serious emo conversations, but he couldn't go through that again…and with the lives they lived, it would only be a matter of time until one or the other of them was again teetering on the verge of death. There were things that mattered more than any of the crap that had come between them, things that needed to be said, and he decided now would be a good time. He smirked, especially as Sam couldn't really say anything. He moved and sat on the side of his brother's bed so Sam could see him, his face suddenly sad and serious.

"Sam…I'm sorry," Dean said softly and shrugged when Sam's eyes snapped up to his in surprise. "I've been kickin' you for months now, and…I shouldn't be, or at least, not like I have been." Dean ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I think I only realized today that you don't think I even give a damn anymore. Do you?" He watched his brother's face and saw the truth of that even as Sam tried to shake his head in denial, and it made his heart hurt. "I'm not gonna say I'm not pissed or…or even disappointed, dude, 'cause I'm not gonna lie to you. There's been too much of that on both our parts in the past and it never ends well. But, Sam, you're my pain-in-the-ass little brother." Dean leaned forward and looked sternly at him. "You have been since the day Mom brought you home from the hospital and let me hold you for the first time. Ain't nothin' gonna change that or make me not care what happens to you. I don't care how pissed I am. I don't care if we're not talkin' for a damn month…hell, a year…I will ALWAYS be there when you need me. And no matter what crap I might have been tossing at you, no one will EVER mean more to me than you. You got that?"

Sam was stuck somewhere in drugged shock to hear all of this from Dean, unable to tear his gaze away from Dean's face, and he could see the utter, raw truth of the words in his brother's eyes. It was the last thing he'd expected, and his eyes swam with the wave of emotion that washed over him. He tried to talk and ended up slamming his eyes closed as he choked on the damn tube again.

"Easy, Sammy." Dean felt instantly bad and put a hand to the side of his brother's neck to squeeze and help him calm down. "You can say any girly thing you want once they take this tube out, ok?" He smiled when Sam finally opened his watery eyes and looked at him, confusion and doubt warring with hope on his face. "I meant it, Sammy. Every word."

As he watched, Sam's expression shifted as if a huge weight had been lifted from him. And as he stared up at Dean, behind the tears that filled his eyes, Dean saw an expression he hadn't seen in many, many years - that look of absolute love and trust that Sam had always reserved for him alone from the time he was a toddler until he got to be a teenager and that just wasn't cool anymore. In recent years, Dean had come to doubt that look even existed anymore, even hidden deep down. He rolled his eyes, mostly to hide the fact that he had to swallow around a sudden lump in his own throat. "You should just go back to sleep." Dean reached down and found the button for morphine they'd left his brother. He held it up where Sam could see it, grinned, and pressed it. He chuckled at Sam's glare and laughed a little louder when Sam's eyes rolled and then closed. "Night-night, Sammy."

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Dean stood nervously to the side, letting the doctors in next to Sam and waited while they took the tube out. He wasn't happy about being shoved aside and Sam didn't look happy about it either, sending a momentary panicked look to Dean before closing his eyes.

"Alright, Sam." The doctor in charge of his case, Ben, took a firm grip around the tube, already detached and ready to be removed. "I want you to take a deep breath, deep as you can, and blow out hard. Just keep blowing until it's out. It'll only take a second. Here we go."

Dean grimaced in sympathy. He remembered the last time he'd had one of those tubes down his throat and just how much it hurt getting the thing out, no matter what the doctors said. He watched the doctor pull steadily and the nurses hold his brother down and finally it was out and Sam lurched up and forward coughing and gagging frantically. Dean pushed one of the nurse's aside and grabbed Sam's shoulder.

"Hey, buddy. Ok. You're good. Breathe through it. That's it," Dean coached him softly and held on to Sam's trembling shoulder.

Sam was in danger of throwing up as he gagged in the aftermath of the tube's removal, and he clamped a hand around Dean's arm as he fought the urge and was finally able to breathe past it and quiet the cough.

"That's it." Dean put an arm behind his back and helped Sam lay back against the pillows. "Better?"

Sam nodded wearily. "Yeah." He scowled at the sound of his voice and the pain that shot through his throat.

"Try to speak as little as possible for the next few days, Sam." Ben leaned down with a stethoscope and looked at Dean. "I need to make sure he's breathing properly."

Dean smirked at the doctor's show of intelligence at handling him and he nodded, backing off the bed to let him do his job. "He's gonna be ok, right, doc?"

Ben listened to Sam's breaths and straightened with a smile. "He'll be fine. You were very lucky," he told Sam seriously. "If your brother and Dr. Mason hadn't been there…"

"Trust me, doc. We know." Dean eased a hip on the side of Sam's bed. "When can I get him outta here?"

"I want to keep him for a few more hours and make sure his throat doesn't try to close up again." He raised a hand at the concerned looks on both men's faces. "I don't expect it to happen, but it is a possibility. Ice chips for you for a couple hours, Sam, to combat any swelling from the tube. I'll have the nurse bring some."

"Carl?" Sam croaked and put a hand over his throat with a grimace for the pain. "Hands?"

Ben rolled his eyes at Sam speaking and nodded. "Dr. Mason is fine. We released him about an hour ago. He won't be playing piano for a while, but he should recover most or all mobility in his fingers."

"Good," Sam croaked again.

"Knock it off, frog-man." Dean glared at his brother.

Ben chuckled. "He said he'd be by to see you. I didn't think you'd mind."

"Thanks, doc." Dean smiled at the man as he left and looked back at his brother. "No more talking until they get those ice chips in here for you, dude. You're makin' me hurt just listening to you."

"Good advice!"

Dean turned and looked over with a smile as Dr. Mason came in the room. "Lookin' like a mummy there, Carl."

Carl chuckled and held up his bandage-swaddled hands. They looked like massive, white mittens and he smiled. "Means my wife has to wait on me for a few weeks." He smirked. "I have no problem with that idea, though I imagine she'll say I did this on purpose just to get out of dishes."

Sam laughed, or tried to and ended up barking a painful cough instead through his abused throat while his eyes watered.

"Oh, perfect timing. Thank you, nurse." Carl liberated a cup of ice chips from the nurse as she came in and went to the bed. "Here, Dean. Get some of these in him."

Sam had to fight to stop coughing long enough to get a few chips in his mouth. The icy water instantly soothed his throat as he swallowed and he sagged back into the bed with relief.

"I believe your doctor probably told you no talking?" Carl fixed Sam with a stern gaze. "I'd wag a finger at you but I'm all out of fingers at the moment." He smiled. "I wanted to thank you both, but especially you, Sam." He put a hand to the young man's shoulder. "I would likely be very horribly dead right now if not for you."

"Same," Sam said in the softest whisper he could manage and smiled at the doctor. "Thank…thank you."

"Dude, would you…can we put the tube back in him?" Dean asked facetiously and grabbed the hand Sam aimed for his stomach. "It's the only way he's gonna shut up."

Carl laughed and smiled at both men. He turned and gestured one bandaged hand to his coat pocket. "Would you grab the card out of there?" He waited while Dean slipped a hand into his pocket and came out with a business card. "That's my cell on the back. I'd appreciate it if you boys would call me after…when it's safe to go back and find the painting for my mother."

"Yeah, we will," Dean said easily and slipped the card into his own pocket. "It's gonna be a day or two. Pretty sure he'd just steal a car and come after me if I tried to do it myself."

Sam nodded furiously and took the cup of ice chips from his brother with a glare.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, so, soon's he's back on his feet, we'll go gank Captain Cranky."

Carl shook his head with a smile. "You are two exceptional young men. I wish I could shake your hands. For now I'll just say again, thank you for saving my life. And then I'm going home and try not to think too much about things I know now that I rather wish I didn't. You boys be careful out there."

"We will, doc." Dean took Carl's arm in his hand and met his eyes seriously. "Thank you for him."

"You did all the work, Dean." Carl nodded. "Damn fine job of it too. Now, I'd best be off home before Sheilah comes looking for me. I'll expect to hear from you."

He turned to go, but Dean stopped him again. "Doc, you should know, there are other things that go bump in the night out there besides ghosts." He pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket and scribbled a number on it and tucked it into the doctor's pocket. "Just in case. Anytime."

Carl nodded his appreciation. "Now at least I have the answer to that age old question."

Dean looked at him quizzically, "You mean if the supernatural is real?"

Carl glanced between them and grinned. "No. The other question. Who ya gonna call?" He patted his pocket, turned, and walked out whistling the opening strains of the Ghostbusters theme song as he went.

Dean chuckled as Carl left and looked back at Sam who was happily chewing ice chips and grinning at the exchange. "You know, they give those to pregnant women."

"Jerk." Sam croaked.

Dean snorted and dropped back into the chair by his bed. "Bitch." He watched his brother, awake and breathing on his own and let out a breath he'd been holding since that moment in the antechamber. "Soon as you're good, we are ending that son of a bitch, Sammy."

Sam nodded in complete agreement and laid his head back wearily. "Soon."

"Shut up already!" Dean admonished with a laugh and took the cup away before his brother fell asleep.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

_To Be Continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Sam came out of the bathroom toweling his head dry and smiled even as he rolled his eyes to find his brother standing there. "I'm fine."

Dean raised a brow. "I heard you hackin' in there, dude, and you still sound like a frog."

"Doc said I will for a week or two." Sam walked past him and grabbed a clean shirt from his bag. The sound of his own voice was strange in his ears - gravelly and deeper than it should be and sounding like he'd gargled with sand, and he couldn't yell even if he wanted to.

"We can take another day," Dean told him. It had been three days since Sam had been attacked, and while his little brother insisted he was fine, the coughing Dean had heard in the shower a few minutes ago made him worry.

"No, we can't." Sam pulled his shirt on and looked at Dean. "You know we can't. Sooner or later someone else is going to find that vault and Magnus will kill them." He already felt guilty about holding Dean up for three days, yet at the same time, had been completely unwilling to let his brother deal with the murderous spirit alone, not after what had happened to him. Sam had nightmares, not just about being strangled in that vault, but about Dean suffering the same fate with no one coming to his rescue. "Let's get moving."

Dean sighed and shrugged. "Fine. But I even think you're not up to it, I'm lockin' your ass in the trunk while I finish this job."

Sam snorted. "Like to see you try."

"Don't tempt me, little brother," Dean warned with a smirk, only half joking. He was tired. So was Sam. Neither of them had slept well the last few nights; Sam because he kept waking up gasping with the memory of not being able to breathe and Dean because he'd sat with him every night and reassured him he was alright.

They drove quietly back to Sutro Baths in deference to Sam's still healing throat. Dean ran his hands happily over the wheel of the Impala. Carl had turned up at the hospital the next day and commandeered an intern to drive Dean back out to the Baths to get his car. Dean smirked. The poor intern had looked frustrated to be taken away from his work at first and then had been just a little scared when he'd taken a good look at Dean towering over him.

Dean parked the Impala in the thankfully empty parking lot and got out to look over the ruins below. It was nearing dusk, and they hoped any tourists and hikers would have left for the day.

"Where…" Sam broke off and cleared his throat with an irritated roll of his eyes. "Where did we come up?"

Dean waved an arm toward the wide arm of the bluff extending out to the ocean. "Over there. Carl said that's where the house used to be."

Sam nodded. "Right. I remember now…sort of." That night was still a bit of a blur of pain and confusion for him. There were disturbing glimpses of hellfire, chains, and meat hooks among his nightmares when he slept. He shook himself and took the bag Dean handed him and then the shotgun.

Dean turned his EMF on and pocketed it to make sure they'd know the moment Magnus showed himself again. "Ready?" Sam gave him a nod and he started out along the bluff's peninsula with Sam at his side. "Carl said he managed to convince the cops who responded to my emergency call not to go down there. Told 'em it was too dangerous and might collapse."

Sam smiled. "I like him. Two broken hands and he didn't run."

Dean nodded. That alone, that Carl hadn't left his brother and had tried to open the door even with his ruined hands, earned the man anything he ever asked of Dean. "He was pretty cool for a doctor and I don't say that often." He kept a watchful eye on Sam as they walked. This was the most moving his little brother had done in three days and he wasn't about to let him overtax himself now and end up back in the hospital…or worse…just because Dean failed to watch out for him yet again.

"Stop staring at me," Sam said in his still raspy voice and rolled his eyes at his brother with a smirk. "It's creepy."

"Whatever, Batman." Dean snorted at Sam's disgusted look. They found the hatch into the tunnels easily enough, and Dean flipped it open as he turned on his flashlight. "I'm going down first."

Sam let his brother take the lead and, though he made sure to look irritated about it, inside, it warmed his heart a little. The so-familiar gesture from the time before everything went sideways between them, was a clear indication to him that Dean really had meant the things he'd said in the hospital. He was still a little in shock at hearing them; sharing was never something Dean did easily, at least not with him. He knew it had been hard for Dean to voice those thoughts aloud, and he knew things were still not completely healed between them, but the words had been like balm to his battered and bruised heart and soul. He followed his brother down into the dark tunnel with his own flashlight and put his mind on the job. He did not want to be caught off guard by the ghost of Magnus Dunlevy a second time.

The tunnel looked the same to Dean, just as dark and just as foreboding; and when he stepped into the antechamber, he had to stop for a moment and swallow hard with remembered terror. There were still spots of Sam's blood on the floor, and, as his flashlight found them and made them glisten, he was hit with the visceral memory of having to slice into Sam's throat to save his life.

"Dean?"

Dean turned at his brother's voice and his eyes glanced over the white bandage still taped to the front of his throat to protect the stitches there. Dean swallowed again and smiled. "Yeah. Come on." He saw Sam's eyes follow the beam of his light and he put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You good?"

Sam met his eyes and raised a brow. "I could ask you the same."

"Shut up, Frogger." Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to the room. He played the light up the opposite wall and froze in his tracks. He reached back and fisted in the front of Sam's jacket to stop him. "Shit."

"What? What's…oh, no." Tension ran up Sam's spine. The door to the vault had been forced open into the antechamber and the salt line broken. "Not good. Very not good."

"EMF's still quiet," Dean said softly and approached the door.

"I don't like this." Sam tightened his grip on his shotgun with a frown. "Did someone open the door?"

"Damn, I don't think so." Dean leaned around the door and shone his light through. A large chest looked to have been thrown at it. "I should have thought of this," he said angrily to himself.

"You kind of had other things on your mind at the time, Dean." Sam reminded with a sad smile.

Dean's anger with himself softened at that because it was true; nothing else had mattered with his little brother dying on the floor. He put his shoulder to the door and shoved it open further. It was beginning to make him nervous that the EMF meter in his pocket wasn't making a sound. "This bitch should be on us by now."

Sam nodded and followed Dean inside. He looked up to the ceiling and the now-short length of rope that had strangled him and shuddered. He put a hand reflexively to the bandaged wound at the front of his neck and went wide around his brother, keeping an eye on the two remaining ropes that still hung to the floor. "Maybe we can find his skull before he figures out we're back."

"Yeah; and maybe rainbows'll shoot out my ass. I don't think so." Dean rolled his eyes and snorted.

"I hate it when they wise up." Sam said roughly and coughed to clear his throat. He waved a hand at Dean's concerned glance to say he was alright and started moving quickly through the room. Sam pulled sheets and tarps from tables and dressers and checked every drawer for any sign of Mangus' skull.

Dean groaned. "This is gonna take a while." He sneezed as he yanked a sheet off a display case and waved his hand, trying to dispel the dust cloud. "Ok, well, that's just weird." He grinned and aimed his light inside the glass case. "Check it out, Sammy. The old Sutro guy was into jackalopes." The case held an assortment of sculptures and pieced together taxidermied animals resembling the mythical jackalope; a rabbit with sharp teeth and deer antlers on its head.

Sam chuckled and coughed, rubbing his throat. "Wonder if those things are real."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Hell, no, they're not. That's too weird even for our world, dude."

"Yeah, well, I remember when we thought that about vampires, too. And faeries"

Dean considered for a moment. "Point taken."

Sam walked between a row of tall shelves, sliding the sheets off them as he went toward the center of the room. He pried open the lid of a long box and shined his flashlight inside on a stack of old letters. He let the lid fall closed and moved on to the next. Sam jerked in surprise when something brushed his face and looked up to find he was underneath the dangling ropes in the center of the room. He took a reflexive step backward and banged into a table with a thump. "Shit."

"Sammy?" Dean looked over, aiming his flashlight at his brother and saw where he was standing. The fear that gripped Dean at that moment matched the pale expression on his brother's face. "Hey, come…get back over here, dude. I'll look over there."

Sam swallowed and rubbed his throat and finally dragged his eyes back down. He shook his head. "I'm good."

Dean opened his mouth to argue with him about being stubborn when he didn't have to be and then met Sam's eyes fearfully as the EMF meter in his pocket screamed to life. "Sam, get out of there!"

Sam's resolve to be calm wavered as the ropes twitched in his light and he backed up again. He bumped into the table again, and before he could turn and escape, the floor beneath suddenly gave way with a roar. "Dean!" Sam's panicked shout was little more than a hoarse, choked whisper through his abused throat, but he heard his brother clearly as he fell.

"SAM!"

The tunnel was just wide enough for him and angled sharply downward, sending him sliding on his back down into inky blackness below and Sam grunted in surprise and pain when it began to turn. He banged into the side and continued to slide. He tried to wedge his arms and legs to stop his fall while Dean's voice dwindled above him, but it had no effect. The sides were smooth. His boots wouldn't grip on the surface, and all he managed to do was lose layers of skin on his hands trying to slow his momentum. His flashlight banged into his head and then fell past him to tumble dizzily into the darkness and then out of sight.

"Sammy!" Dean lunged through the cluttered room, shoving tables and shelves out of his way with a clamor, all while the EMF meter wailed in his pocket. "Get out here you bastard!" Dean roared in a rage of fear. He ducked under the now writhing ropes and rolled under a table to come out where his brother had been standing. Dean stared in stark shock at the hole in the floor and Sam's shotgun lying beside it. "Oh, God."

The temperature in the vault plummeted as Dean stood again. It stung the skin of his face, and he turned to the back of the room where they hadn't yet searched. Dean strode quickly to the piles of boxes and furniture and began to shove them over and toss them down, no longer interested in the neat and tidy approach with Sam's life at risk yet again. His instinct was to instantly go after Sam, but he realized that the only way he had a shot of protecting his little brother was to get rid of the spirit for good. He dragged a sheet off a table and snarled angrily when Magnus appeared beyond the table with a howl. Dean felt the ropes above him slap into his back, and he raised his shotgun, firing a blast of rock salt into the bastard's face. Magnus' ghost vanished with a scream, and Dean's eye caught on something under the table.

Dean shoved the table over to its side and found a dark, wood chest beneath it with a heavy padlock. "Yahtzee." He aimed the shotgun and fired at the lock. The force of the impact blew it apart and he kicked the lid open. Inside, perched on a threadbare, velvet cushion, was a human skull. "Gotcha." He dropped his bag beside the chest and propped his flashlight on the side while he dug out the salt canister. Dean upended it over the skull while his mind was echoing with the need to find Sam. Danger first, he reminded himself and pulled out the lighter fluid. He quickly squirted it onto the skull in the chest, saturating it and then stood.

"Shit!" Dean cursed and ducked when one of the ropes whipped into the side of his head from behind. He spun with the shotgun and watched them writhe like living things. They whipped out, trying to catch him and he dropped to the floor beside the chest. Dean dug his Zippo out of his pocket while his flashlight clattered to the floor and rolled away. He blinked and spun the wheel, grinning dangerously when the flame flickered to life.

Dean wanted to wait and let Magnus reappear. He wanted to rub it in while he ganked the asshole, but fear for his brother's fate made him swallow that need. He tossed the lighter into the chest and took only a second to watch the flames spark to life and fill the room with an orange glow as the skull and the interior of the chest burned. "Sayonara, jackass." He recovered his flashlight and pulled the bag over his shoulder while the ropes in the ceiling stopped moving of their own accord. At the same moment, the EMF meter in his pocket went silent and Dean ran from the room to the sound crackling fire and wished he could still hear Sam calling him.

Dean slid into the hall and headed for the stairs down to the beach. "SAM!" He hollered it, and his own voice echoed back to him in the darkness. Dean rounded the corner to the stairs and was forced to slow or risk tumbling down them to his death. He wished he had even a clue where Sam had fallen to, where the hole led to, and if he was even going to find him alive. Dean shook his head and stumbled off the bottom of the stairs into the tunnel. The moonlight flowed into the mouth of the cave to his left and Dean turned and then stopped, bringing the shotgun up to bear as a shadow within moved in the dim light.

"Sammy?" Dean called. There was no response, and his tension cranked up another notch. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he lowered the barrel of the gun fractionally as one of the largest otters he'd seen scampered into the beam of his flashlight. "Huh. Unless you're gonna eat me or maybe tell me where to find Sam, I don't have time to play Wild Kingdom with you." He moved to go around it, and the otter hastily walked into his path and stared up at him. "What the hell?"

Dean stared with a scowl when the otter chittered at him. It ran back out of sight to the right and then again into the cave to his feet and back out again. "No way." He watched with increasing surprise when the otter repeated the process, darting away and back and clearly waiting for him. "You know, Lassie was a dog."

The otter snorted at him and then ran off to the right again, and he made his decision. He had to pick a direction, so…Dean started after the animal and had to run to keep up. "What the hell am I doing?" Dean asked of himself as he ran after the otter into the night. He worked to keep it in the beam of his light and realized they were running toward the pool. The waters were higher than they had been during the day, thanks to the tide coming in. "Wait up, dammit!" Dean yelled when the otter outdistanced him and then dove into the darkly shining waters.

Dean leaped up onto the edge of the pool as the otter resurfaced and looked out over it. "Sam?" He watched the otter swim toward the corner nearest the ocean and the wall of the bluff. Dean narrowed his eyes and shone the light toward it. His heart leaped into his throat when he saw the man-shaped hump against the wall, already half-submerged in the rising water. Dean set the gun and his bag on the edge and jumped into the water without a second thought.

"Sam!" Dean called and swam quickly to him through the chilled ocean water. He brought the flashlight back up as he neared and saw his brother was perched against the wall with one arm up in a hole and holding on; probably the one he fell out of, Dean surmised. The otter paddled in front of Dean and then went to Sam, bumping into his side and blew water from his whiskered mouth up at the side of his head. Dean watched his brother stir and let out a breath in relief.

"Sammy." Dean reached out and slid an arm around Sam's chest to pull his back in against his chest. Sam came away from the wall limply in his grip. Dean put a hand to the bottom of the hole to brace them and jiggled Sam until his head rolled toward him.

Sam groaned softly with the sensation of being moved and then held. He cracked his eyes open and found his brother's face inches away. "Dean?" he asked in his hoarse whisper of a voice. He remembered falling and then a particularly hard bash to the head and little after that."

"Right here. I gotcha. You ok?" Dean was lightheaded with relief to find him alive and in one piece.

Sam closed his eyes again. "Think…think so. Hi'my head."

"Ok. Hang on." Dean let go of the wall and kicked for the side of the pool again where he'd jumped in. They reached the side and he turned to prop Sam against the side. "Hold on for a sec."

Sam opened his eyes again and lifted heavy arms up to rest on the edge while Dean pushed him up higher. He frowned. "How'd you find me?" He jumped when Sutro Sam swam up between his chest and the wall to peer at him. "Sam."

"That's your name, dude. How hard did you hit your head?" Dean asked worriedly as he climbed out.

Sam snorted softly and dropped one hand to pet along the otter's body as it rolled happily and then swam away. "His name too. Sutro Sam. S'in the research." Sam groaned suddenly, realizing what he'd just told his brother and looked up to find Dean grinning at him. "Don't."

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it with a laugh and shook his head. "Too easy, dude. Come on." Dean bent and got hold of his brother. It took effort to hoist him up out of the pool and onto the side and he dropped next to Sam to catch his breath once he was on dry land. He grabbed his flashlight again and pulled Sam's head around. "Lemme see."

Sam scowled again but let Dean check his head with the light, running a hand over his skull and through his hair. Sam hissed out a breath when Dean's fingers found a fresh lump. "Crap."

"Yeah, ok. Really tryin' to rack up the brain damage on this job, aren't you?" Dean said sadly. He stood and pulled his bag over his shoulder again and then took a grip on one of Sam's arms. "Up you go."

Sam had to swallow hard against nausea as Dean dragged him up to his feet and then swayed uncertainly once he was there. "Vacation?"

Dean snorted. "Yeah; I don't think we're doin' anything for a few days, dude." He turned Sam slowly and pulled his arm over his shoulders to keep him steady. "You walk?"

"Yeah." Sam started forward and leaned heavily on Dean, unable to hold his own weight and stay standing at the same time.

"We're taking the stairs back up," Dean told him as they walked. "Take too damn long to walk all the way around the basin."

Sam nodded carefully. "Good." He rolled his head around as they reached the mouth of the tunnel and smiled when he saw Sutro Sam sitting on the edge of the pool and watching them. "Thank you." Sam called as loudly as he could. The otter gave a series of chirps and dove back into the pool, swimming away. "Led me out…out of the tunnel under…under…when I fell the first time."

Dean chuckled. "He Lassied me out to you. A friggin' otter. Only you, Sammy."

Sam smiled and kept his feet moving wearily. "S'good otter." He let his head drop to his brother's shoulder and concentrated on just keeping his legs moving when they reached the stairs.

**_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_ **

Sam looked up when his brother came back in the motel room and set the laptop aside. "You call Carl?"

Dean snorted at Sam's voice. It was still a rough, ragged whisper, and he nodded. "Yeah. He thanked us for saving him again, making the ruins safe, and made me promise to tell you to keep your trap shut for a few days."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm fine."

"Uh huh." Dean watched him rub the front of his throat and the bandage. He set the bag he'd brought inside on the bed and pulled it open. "Here." He took out a bottle of Gatorade and tossed it over. "And…" Dean reached into the bag again with a grin.

Sam's eyes widened when Dean yanked something out quickly and threw it at his face. He caught it reflexively, fingers sinking into something soft and fluffy. "What?" He pulled it down and stared with his jaw hanging open while his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Dean had found him a plush stuffed animal representation of Sutro Sam. "Oh, you jerk."

Dean threw his head back and laughed. He shrugged and dropped onto his bed with a beer. "Check it out. It's the otter Sam." Sam rolled his eyes and groaned at the bad pun. Dean snorted and raised his beer to Sam in a silent toast. "You know you love it, bitch."

Sam shook his head with a smile and looked at the plush otter's face. He glanced back over at Dean and his smile faded. "Dean." He set the toy aside and sat up, putting his feet on the floor to face him.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, you're not gonna throw hormones all over me, are you?"

Sam scowled. "You promised I could say whatever I wanted."

Dean stared and then chuckled. "Ok, yeah, I kinda did, I guess." He settled back against the headboard. "Go ahead. Knock yourself out."

Sam glared at him without any real heat and took a breath. "Thank you."

Dean looked over suspiciously and when Sam didn't say anything else, he raised a brow. "That's it? That all you got?"

Sam smiled and ducked his head. "I…I'm sorry. I know I've let you down, but…" he took a breath and shook his head at himself. "It was never because I didn't…didn't want my big brother around anymore," Sam finished softly and a little miserably. "I just thought, when you vanished I thought…our luck finally ran out, you know? There was no one, Dean – no one - and I didn't even know where to begin to look for you." He looked up at Dean, hoping that he was making any kind of sense. "I had nothing left. With you gone, I had no…I couldn't keep…" Sam's voice trailed off and Dean could hear the catch in his breath. "I guess I just want you to understand that hitting Riot…" Sam ducked his head again with a lost expression. "…saved my life."

Dean swallowed hard with the impact of that stuttered sentence. He could easily fill in the blanks and knew exactly what his little brother was saying…or not saying. He knew because God only knew how many times he had made the vow to himself that if Sam died, so would he. He'd lost him too many times already and had promised himself he would not go through that kind of pain again. Still, it cut through to his very soul just thinking of his baby brother even considering that as an option.

He swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood. Dean grabbed his brother's shoulders and tugged him up to pull him into a hug. "Jesus, Sammy," he whispered and tightened his arms around Sam's shoulders. He couldn't even yell at Sam for obliquely admitting to considering suicide. Even Dean couldn't throw stones at THAT glass house. "Think we need to work on our communication."

Sam snorted a watery laugh and leaned back, shaking his head. "Independence Day? Really?"

Dean gave him a lopsided grin and then pushed him back down to sit. "I only quote the best. Shut up."

Sam smiled and lay back down, resting his aching head against the wall. His minor and mostly healed concussion had come back thanks to his wild ride down the tunnel and into the pool. He still wasn't sure how he hadn't just drowned when he hit the water, but he thought it had something to do with Sutro Sam. His left hand found the stuffed otter again and he looked down at it. "I'm glad you're back, Dean."

"I know, buddy." Dean nodded and put a hand on his shoulder for a moment and then rolled back onto his own bed with the remote. "You need to stop talking now before you sound like Darth Vader for good."

Sam laughed and coughed, holding his sore throat. "You're just jealous," he said and looked sideways at his brother. "I sound more like Batman than you do."

Dean pulled his pillow out from behind him and whipped it over to the other bed, slapping his brother in the stomach. "No more talking, bitch!" He grinned at Sam's hoarse laugh and flicked the television on. In deference to Sam's healing head, he kept the volume low and shifted so he could see Sam from the corner of his eye and surreptitiously keep an eye on him. He didn't think he was in any danger anymore, but he couldn't stop worrying. The memory of cutting into his little brother's throat was going to stay with him for a long time. Dean turned his head a little more and smirked, watching as Sam nodded off with his head tipped to the side and his left hand curled around the body of the stuffed otter named for him. He laid his own head back and closed his eyes wearily. It had been a long damn week and now, finally, he felt secure enough to get some rest of his own. "Night, little brother."

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_The End._


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